


Between Cat Acrobatics

by fakexpearls



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Don't copy to another site, Humor, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakexpearls/pseuds/fakexpearls
Summary: Damen is new to Delfeur, new to the apartment complex, and hasn’t met his neighbor. Don’t worry though, his cat found a way to get over to their balcony all on her own.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 146
Kudos: 339





	1. One

The sun was starting to set as Damen poured cream a little cream into his coffee, not even sure if he wanted to drink it. 

The only part of his kitchen unpacked was the coffee maker, and much like his sleep schedule over the past seven days, everything was a mess. Moving from one end of the country to the other on little notice from his father -  _ “There’s an upper management position opening at our office there, and I would like you to take it” -  _ and then flying back for one final meeting meant that Damen’s big weekend plans had been cancelled.

Those big plans had been to unpack his life from the boxes strewn across the apartment and eat something that wasn’t takeout. Or maybe just find better takeout. But instead, Damen had stumbled in from his red-eye flight at three that morning, made sure the cat had food, and passed out until seven p.m..

Leaning against the counter now, exhausted, Damen looked at his coffee, then back to the light from the sunset streaming through the balcony door. 

Delpha was supposed to have mild winters. If nothing else here was like Ios, he hoped that would be enough to quell the homesickness he had been pushing away since his father had ordered him to uproot his life. That had been a month ago.

“ _ You’ll do great things,” _ his father had said.  _ “But you can’t do them here. Talk to Kyrina in H.R. They’ll find you a place.”  _ Then he had dismissed Damen with a nod.

“ _ He’s being a dick,”  _ his older brother had said, rolling his eyes when they met for a drink downtown on one of Damen’s last night’s in Ios.  _ “You remember when he did the same to me.” _

_ “And you fucked off to cooking school across the ocean.” _

Kastor had shrugged like defying their father had been easy.  _ “You could be a busboy for me, I suppose,”  _ he offered, and then smirked.

Standing in the house they had shared since graduating college, with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, Nik had been the only one to offer true sentiments, “ _ Well, fuck.” _

And now, Damen, Petal, and all their worldly possessions had a beautiful view of the Delfeur skyline. Which, he had to admit, looked rather nice at this time of night. This time of night when he should have had a gray cat winding around his feet, asking for dinner. 

“Petal?” he called, eyes shifting to the boxed-up living room, the floor around his feet, and then down the hall to his bedroom. He said the cat’s name again, waiting for a response: the jingling of the bell on her collar, a dramatic meow—maybe the pathetic one she used to make clear the utter betrayal she felt when Damen made her wait for food.

But there was only silence from the apartment and noise trickling in from the open balcony door. 

The open balcony door.

“Are you fucking serious? Petal.” The name was an admonishment as Damen made his way over to the balcony, eyes peeled in case he had missed her laying on the carpet. 

But no. That would have been too simple. 

The balcony door - which Damen would swear on his grave had been closed when he got home at god-forsake o’clock, and that was exactly what he was going to tell his best friend,and cat co-parent, when he called him in a panic in a few minutes, - was open five inches. Maybe six. Just the perfect amount for a cat to make a grand escape.

Damen pushed the sliding door open with too much force, looking around the small concrete slab of a balcony floating five stories in the sky.

“Petal,” he said, still not seeing her. And now the panic was really starting to set in. “Petal, I swear to god—” He stopped mid sentence when his chest started tightening and had to take a deep breath.. He leaned over the balcony’s edge but saw nothing. 

That was good. He hadn’t brought Petal across the continent for her to become a splat on the concrete. Damen didn’t know where else she could have gone. He looked around the balcony again to no avail, running a hand through his hair, which now that he touched it really needed to be washed, but that could wait until - 

A cat meowed and Damen froze. 

Hesitantly, he repeated the cat’s name. Another meow came, familiar. As if turning his body might make the cat disappear, Damen looked out of the corner of his eyes. Being the last unit on the floor meant there was only open sky to his left, but to his right there was another balcony. Once again, he said the cat’s name - this time more like a whisper.

And she meowed. 

In the corner of the neighbor’s balcony, on the single chair beside a small table, Petal sat with her feet tucked under, her head tilted to the side and eyes on Damen. Innocent as ever. 

Petal, for her entire life up until a week ago, had been the only pet in a two story house with multiple rooms and furniture at her disposal for all her climbing, hiding, and exploring needs. She’d had two people that would bend over backwards to make sure she was well fed and new toys. She had come into the world - well, Damen and Nik’s house - one day, small enough to fit in the palm of Damen’s hand like a gray little fluff ball, and with the tiniest meow he had ever heard ( _“Nik, it was so sad - no, listen. She needs a home.”_ ) and been allowed to blossom into the spoiled and opinionated cat she was.

But she had never once been outside. 

This move was proving to be full of new experiences for both of them. 

“What -” Damen began. “How -” he shook his head once, still staring at the cat. He didn’t want to know how she had made her way over there. Cat agility acrobatics. Reflexes. Whatever. “How long have you been over there?”

The only response, as expected, was a meow.

“And do you know how to come back?”

Another meow. This one, Damen thought, sounded less sure.

“How exactly am I supposed to get you?” He asked, even though the answer was clear to him. This was one of those times where it felt justified to lecture the cat, despite how crazy he might sound. “Can I trust you to stay there?”

Meow.

He didn’t believe her. “Alright then.” 

Due to the clusterfuck of stress and anxiety of the past seven days, Damen hadn’t had the chance to meet any of his neighbors. In all honesty, he hadn’t paid attention to anyone he saw in the building besides the landlord delivering his keys. 

But now he was going to make the best first impression on those in Apartment 5C by asking for his runaway cat back.

Or so Damen thought. No one answered next door, and between debating waiting for them to get home, calling Nik and telling him that Petal was a demoness and awful and that he should plan a trip out here as soon as possible because they both missed him, the only logical solution Damen came up with was to jump from his balcony to the other.

And so he did just that. 

_______

Fresh from the shower and ready to settle in with a book and a glass of wine, Laurent was more than ready to leave the past week behind him. He had even turned his phone off so no one could invite him out or send him memes or generally be a thorn in his side. Well, the last one was reserved for his brother, but the point stood. There would be no  _ pings _ to interrupt his very chill and quiet non-required reading. Maybe he would even go to bed before eleven, truly bask in -

Laurent was just getting the ice cream from the freezer when a loud crash came from across his apartment. From his balcony? Which was...odd, but nothing too startling. Until another loud noise that sounded like his little outside table being knocked to the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Someone half-yelled from the balcony. Apparently.

Laurentstared, frozen, at the curtained doors.

“You’re the one who snuck over here!” The voice said. To whom, Laurent really didn’t want to know. 

“How are we gonna get home, huh?” The would-be intruder asked his accomplice. It was pretty clear, at least to Laurent, that the only way out was through his apartment where they could steal anything they wanted on the way to the door.

Torn between pretending nothing was happening (going to his bedroom and closing the door while sitting stock still in fear) or handling the situation on his own (turning off his phone was real smart, wasn’t it? By the time it started back up he could be dead), Laurent slowly put down the pint of ice cream and opened his silverware drawer, grabbing the biggest knife he had instead of a spoon. Then, without looking away from the balcony door, he started to creep across the apartment.

“I bet you’re so proud of yourself….just wait until Nik hears about this. No - stop it.  _ Stop.  _ Come here!...You gonna climb to the next balcony? Please...Petal, stop it.”

Laurent’s first thought upon yanking open the balcony door, a battle cry on the tip of his tongue and knife overhead was:  _ “Why is he shirtless?”  _ followed by  _ “Good god, those arms.”  _ The words that actually came out of his mouth were: “Is that a cat?”

  
  


_______

  
  
  
  


Laurent wanted nothing to do with Damen or Petal the Cat from 5D.

Even this early in the semester, he was too busy to waste time thinking about his new neighbor the morning after their unique introductions while in line for his coffee - 

_ “Just jumped balconies. Like it was no big deal.” _

Or when he was walking to his next class on Tuesday afternoon - 

_ “If those sweatpants had been any lower…”  _

Or when he was tutoring Nicaise Wednesday evening, - 

“Who names a cat ‘Petal’ anyways,” Laurent muttered under his breath as the young boy read through his assigned chapters for the week.

The boy looked up, curious. “Cats are awesome, but that’s a dumb name. Did you give a cat a stupid name?” he asked. “I want to meet it either way. Make sure you’re not going to kill it.”

Laurent held back a chuckle . “She’s not my cat,” he said.

“Oh,” said Nicaise, crestfallen as he looked back to the book in front of him, then looked right back to Laurent. “Who gave a cat such a stupid name then? One of your dumb friends?” 

“My neighbor,” Laurent told him. And he most certainly didn’t think of how Damen in 5D just walked around with defined abs and v-lines on display right in that moment. His cheeks most certainly didn’t heat at the thought, either. “Finish your chapter,” he told Nicaise, focusing his eyes back on his own textbook. Not that he had retained anything he had read. “You need to have the main argument for your paper picked out before we’re done tonight.”

Nicaise rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” Then, “What color is the cat?”

Laurent most certainly wasn’t still thinking about his stupidly attractive neighbor that Thursday night while on the phone to his brother. He was actually going to have a night of peace and quiet and it would not be interrupted by someone catapulting themselves across no small distance five stories up in the sky for the sake of a cat —

“I don’t see why else you wouldn’t be able to let this go,” Auguste said over the phone. As if they hadn’t been having the same conversation since Laurent had called him the morning after he had met Damen and Petal.

“He’s my neighbor,” Laurent said, carefully pulling his dinner from the oven. “I am going to have to see him eventually.” He looked around for empty space on his counters which was nonexistent. Everything was covered in dirty dishes. 

“He apologized?” Auguste asked, boreand unconcerned with his brother’s plight.

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“I don’t know his hours!” Laurent replied indignantly, finally setting the hot dish on the stovetop. There was marinara sauce splashed on half of the burners, but it wasn’t steaming anymore. That made it safe, he decided. 

Auguste, as always, remained calm. “I’m not saying you should. I’m saying that maybe -”

“Maybe you should just let me complain - ”

“You have been ‘complaining,’” Laurent could hear the air quotes in his brother’s tone and rolled his eyes, “All week. You’re clearly fixated. Make him brownies if you’re so desperate to talk to him, which in my professional opinion, you are. Maybe he’ll be nake-”

“I don’t -”

“Or maybe he’ll ask you in, which is what neighbors generally do instead of staring -”

“I have not been - ”

“- and mooning over a stranger like you’re thirteen again.”

“I haven’t been  _ mooning - ” _

“Please, Laurent,” Auguste cut him off again. “Tell me just how big Neighbor Man’s biceps are. It’s all my  _ married _ and  _ hetrosexual _ heart wants to hear.”

Well that was just - “My dinner’s ready, Auguste. I’ve got to go,” Laurent decided, trying to sound nonplussed and failing miserably. 

“Uh huh.”

“Your advice, as always, has been enlightening.”

“I can send you Mother’s recipe fo - ”

“Tell Yvette hello for me. Bye!”

Stabbing his finger down on ‘End Call’, Laurent glared at his darkening phone screen. 

His brother was absolutely useless. Medical degree and all. He had never been right a day in his life and - 

A message popped up right then on Laurent’s phone.

**_(6:25 p.m.): Just admit he’s hot and free me from your gay anguish._ **

Then another:

**_(6:25 p.m.):_** **_Add espresso powder to the brownies for an extra kick._**

And another:

**_(6:26 p.m.): And confirm his sexuality first, for the love of god._ **

Laurent glared harder at his phone, then at the state of his kitchen, and sighed. Auguste was the worst big brother to ever claim the title, but Laurent missed him. Even when Laurent had gone home for a couple weeks in the summer, Auguste’s schedule made it hard to get together more than a few times. This was the first time in too long that they had spoken on the phone more than once in a week.

Even if his brother was wrong, completely off the mark about Laurent’s complaints about his new neighbor, he missed him. 

Sighing again, Laurent plated up some of the parmesan chicken and then made his way to his balcony doors.

The old resident of 5D had been...well, Mrs. Boulanger had been old. She’d been living in her apartment for years before Laurent had moved in next door, right before his junior year of college. she had knocked on his door, offered him a plate of cookies and asked nicely that he keep it down after nine p.m., and to  _ please return the plate, young man. That’s part of my good china, _ but aside from that, their interactions had been few and far between. 

Still, Mrs. Boulanger had managed to make her presence known, as she enjoyed watching her television at the highest volume possible, and having the nightly news yelled through a wall could only be tolerated for so long. The game shows that Mrs. Boulanger watched after newscasters yelled about all the doom and gloom of the day, even less so. For his sanity, Laurent had grown used to having his dinner out on his balcony when weather permitted. 

(He had most certainly not been eating at his sad table all week just in case Damen from 5D or his cat came outside. That would have been pathetic. And if he had, he most certainly would have made sure never to tell Auguste about it.)

There was a slight chill to the air, a sign that it was autumn, even if only for a few hours each day. Laurent basked in it as he stepped onto the balcony. The weather was never as cold and dreary as it had been in Arles when he was a child, and while he didn’t miss the blizzards or sub-zero temperatures, winter in Delfeur was too temperate. Autumn, even more so. Sometimes though, the chilliness allowed him to believe he wasn’t so far from everything he had once known. 

It had been six years since he had left home for school, two since he had made the move permanent. He tried not to think about how sometimes, that felt like a mistake. 

Instead Laurent thought about how he had enough leftovers now to get through the weekend, and that he should start the research for his next paper. Or at least open his laptop and pretend to look for sources for a while. He looked over the city and thought about how he had to vacuum at some point. And call Auguste again, even if he refused to let Laurent be melodramatic about his hot neighbor. Maybe he would read the emails about the study group his classmates were forming and actually join this year. 

Instead of missing Arles, he thought about how he could sit out on the balcony as the sun set, and how the sounds of the city - the cars honking as their drivers tried to make it home just a little faster, the laughter of people stumbling from bars and happy hours, the train brakes screeching at each station - had become the soundtrack to his dinners.

Later, when the only light left to read by was coming through his balcony doors, Laurent heard the first sounds from next door. As he finished the chapter in the book he was on, he gave a cursory glance to the clock on his phone.

8:37 p.m.

“...thing’s fine, Father,” he heard Damen from 5D say once the other balcony door opened. “As I told you it would be…. No that’s not….” The rest trailed off as he moved back into his apartment. 

Laurent had gone still at the voice, eyes frozen on the page before him, and he silently admonished himself for it. All the same, he wouldn’t make himself get up and go inside. He turned back to his book, making his way through another chapter. And then another. In fact, it wasn’t Damen from 5D’s voice that broke his concentration, but a loud and demanding _meow._

No one was around to see how Laurent jumped. 

Turning towards the other balcony, his heart hammering a little too quickly, Laurent couldn’t see Petal. Still, he offered a hesitant, “Hello.”

Another demanding meow was her reply.

“I don’t know what you’re saying to me,” he said, putting his book down and pushing out of his chair. “Maybe you should go find Damen.” 

Leaning against his balcony’s side railing, he could see the gray cat in the corner closest to him, hiding in the shadows. When she meowed again, it seemed as if she had been waiting for Laurent’s eyes to meet hers.

“I don’t know...” he trailed off. It was ridiculous to be talking to a cat like this. “I don’t have any food for you,” he said.

“No, but I do.”

Laurent did  _ not _ jump at Damen’s appearance. Not that he would have seen if Laurent had, as he was focused on the cat, an unguarded smile playing across his face. “Are you bugging Laurent?” he asked Petal. 

“She’s fine,” Laurent said. The cat stayed silent in agreement. “She’s, um...very boisterous, though.”

Damen chuckled, shaking his head. He was dressed (tragically) in a t-shirt and sweats, holding a beer bottle in one hand while the other went through his hair. “Not usually. She’s mad about the move. And that I’ve been late getting home. She was on a schedule before, and it’s all been fucked.” He looked down at the cat. “Your dinner is out now.”

The meow he got in response sounded like it was full of disbelief, if anyone asked Laurent.

“I’ll be on time tomorrow, I promise.”

Petal meowed again.

The corners of Laurent’s mouth lifted involuntarily. 

“Go eat,” Damen said again, and Laurent could just make out one of his feet nudging the cat back inside through the balcony’s fencing. “Go.”

Now was the time for Laurent to make his escape, clean up the kitchen, ignore any and all text messages from his brother, and continue to Not Think about Damen and Petal from 5D. That would have been the wise thing to do, Laurent knew. That was the safe path to self-preservation. One couldn’t drown in their neighbor’s dimples if he never saw them again, nor fantasize about said neighbor’s biceps and if his hands would reach around them - 

“You’re settling in alright?” Laurent asked, throwing caution to the wind and ignoring the slight heat he felt rising in his cheeks. It was the polite thing to ask; better than just staring at Damen and said biceps in awed silence. 

Damen shrugged, turning back from the door. “Haven’t had much time to do anything,” he replied. “Been wining and dining the big clients so they trust me. Or so I’m told.” He rolled his eyes and took a long swig of beer. 

“You moved for work.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Damen answered with a nod. “Where from?”

“Ios.”

_ Oh, _ thought Laurent, and felt something warm a little in his chest. An understanding, maybe. Pointing at himself, he said, “Arles.”

Both of them from opposite ends of their countries, and in the no-man’s land between them. 

The sounds of night-life were starting to replace those of weary commuters, the laughter that trickled up from the sidewalks louder and more boisterous than before. As he and Damen stared off towards the city, some part of Laurent felt lonely, and he closed his eyes to push the feeling away. Right then, he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry I threatened you with a knife,” Laurent said after a few minutes, to which Damen let out laugh.

“Well, I’m sorry about—” Damen gestured back and forth between their two balconies.

“Jumping onto my property like some giant animal out on the hunt?” 

There were the dimples again. “Yes,” said Damen. “That. Not my best first impression.”

“Surely worse than you made at work,” Laurent said, and Damen laughed again. Laurent felt as if he’d won a prize. “I’m sure we can recover from such introductions, if you’d like.”


	2. Two

The briskness from the night before had lingered on into the morning, and not only was Laurent dressed in a sweater because of it, but he had been out for his coffee and croissant and returned already. 

His kitchen was still a disaster, and there was another unsolicited recipe from his brother in his messages, but those were all things Laurent was going to worry about later. All of that could wait a couple of hours while he aired out the apartment and enjoyed the false sense of autumn and also pretended to have no reading due. It was the Friday way.

Opening the balcony door, ready to let the cool air in -

Laurent stopped. Because there she was, sunbathing in the one strip of sun hitting the concrete.

Petal. 

“You are nothing but trouble,” he told the cat as he stepped outside.

Her response was to blink twice. 

He said, “I’m sure you know it too,” and then took a sip of his coffee.

Petal yawned. 

“You better hope your father hasn’t left,” Laurent told the cat, picking her up and making his way through his apartment and to Damen’s door. 

Not that he would leave her to fend for herself in the hallway or something. He had tuna, specifically purchased for Petal, in the cupboard and could get a small bowl down for water. They could enjoy breakfast together, and then lunch and whenever Damen came home, Laurent could safely deliver her back to him with a perfectly placed raised brow.

His first set of knocks garnered no response, so the idea of spending the day with Petal was seeming slightly more likely as she purred in his ear and Laurent knocked a second time. 

“Stop acting so pleased,” he said, hefting Petal up higher in his arms. For such a tiny creature, she weighed more than he would’ve expected. 

It took a third set of knocks for Damen to open the door, and while Laurent had been ready to kindly thrust Petal into his arms, all he managed to do was stare.

“Laurent?” Damen said, sounding concerned as he adjusted the collar of his button down shirt. His sleeve cuffs were undone as well. His hair was a mess, like it had been the night before, and he had dark circles under his eyes. “What’s wro- how did you even get out?” He asked Petal who was still over Laurent’s shoulder, examining the ceiling.

“I swear the door -” Damen cut himself off, looking over his shoulder. “That was closed!” He said, turning back and glaring at his cat, accusingly. Then he looked back to Laurent who had yet to say a word, and offered him a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s - ” Laurent broke off, clearing his throat. He was not going to be charmed by either of them anymore than he already was. No. He refused. Much like his brain was refusing to think anything beyond  _ arms in that top _ and  _ those pants fit so well.  _

Damen reached for Petal, stepping closer so that Laurent’s next thought was  _ his cologne, oh no.  _

“Are -” Laurent cleared his throat again as Damen held Petal against his chest. Even though he had looked harried and concerned a moment before, Damen smiled down at his troublesome cat and Laurent wondered if this was his Gay Panic of the year. If his new neighbor would indeed be his downfall. If he would get back into his apartment and have to call Auguste because that asshole had been right.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he finally managed to get out. Then, “I’ll let you finish getting ready for work.” 

Damen nodded, still looking at Petal. “I’ll figure something out with the balcony.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you -” Damen glanced down at his wrist, checking his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to-”

“Yeah,” Laurent repeated, nodding his head. He still hadn’t managed a step towards his own apartment. 

“Let me give you my number. You can call me if she ends up over there again.” 

_______

  
  
  


The first message from Damen came later that night, when Laurent had managed to only make his kitchen more of a mess. 

**(9:20 p.m.): Thanks for the brownies.**

_ (9:21 p.m.): Consider them a late ‘welcome to the building’ present. _

_ (9:22 p.m.): Did you just get home? _

**(9:47 p.m.): Yeah. I’m being lectured about it.**

Laurent couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image of Petal meowing at Damen with indignation. 

_ (9:48 p.m.): Well, she’s right. You said you would be home on time. _

**(9:50 p.m.): The real question is, what are you doing home on a Friday night?**

_ (9:50 p.m.): How do you know I’m home? _

**(9:52 p.m.): Your balcony is lit up**

From his place on the couch, Laurent debated turning off his living room lights or closing the curtains. 

_ (9:55 p.m.): I don’t go out much.  _

**(9:56 p.m.): Then who’s going to show me around town?**

_______

The brownies were delicious, and if Damen had them for breakfast over the weekend, that was no one else’s business. If he also had one with lunch and then dinner, well...Laurent had made a huge pan of them. And they had been the first homemade food Damen had had since the move. And despite Petal’s abysmal behavior, or because of her sudden acrobatic talent, he at least knew one friendly face in Delfeur that wasn’t on the company’s payroll. 

Even if it wasn’t a face that he saw often.

_ (3:05 p.m.): Did you really screen-in your balcony?  _

**(4:46 p.m.): I told you I would. IDK if that’s how Petal’s getting over to you, but doesn’t hurt.**

_ (4:48 p.m.): She’s going to hate that. _

Yes, Petal seemed to hate everything other than Laurent’s balcony and the window in Damen’s bedroom. Sometimes, the coffee table was an acceptable place for a nap. Or for her to puke up a hairball. 

A knock came at Damen’s office door, pulling his attention away from his phone.

“Damen?” It was his assistant, Lykaios. She opened the door wide enough to stick her head in the office. “Your five o’clock is in Conference Room A. Do you want a coffee?” 

Overprepared and overly stressed to meet with the representatives of Barieus and Naos, Damen felt his gut clench. It had been this way since his arrival; the long meetings going even later than he anticipated, the ass-kissing over drinks and dinners blending together already, the clients faceless men with roaring laughter, slaps to Damen’s back, and assurances that  _ “You remind me of your father when we were younger.” _

With a tight smile, moved to stand up. “Decaf, please,” he said to Lykaios. “And once we’re settled, feel free to take off.”

“Oh, I couldn’t - ”

“Please,” he insisted. Damen hadn’t arrived before her since his first day, and she was still there most nights when he finally packed up his briefcase and loosened his tie. “Have dinner at a reasonable time for once.”

She gave a little titter of a laugh, cheeks flushing, but nodded as she pulled back and closed the door, leaving Damen to his last few minutes before he had to become Theomedes’ successful son. The Golden Heir. The one who would meet all of the clients’ expectations because there was no other option.

Damen’s phone screen lit up with another message from Laurent, and he stole the moment to check it.

_ (4:54 p.m.): Elevator’s down, btw.  _

_______

**(9:00 a.m.): SOS there are no more brownies.**

_ (10:16 a.m.): Sounds like a personal problem.  _

_ (10:17 a.m.): Please wash the dish before giving it back. _

**(12:48 p.m.): I wasn’t raised in a barn.**

**(12:49 p.m.): What would be required for more brownies to appear?**

_ (1:30 p.m.): Here’s the recipe: (link) _

**(3:04 p.m.): I see the neighborly attitude has diminished.**

_ (4:00 p.m.): Limited time offer. Lasted only as long as the brownies.  _

_ (4:03 p.m.): Tell Petal hi for me. Hope she hasn’t peed on anything you love today. _

**(4:25 p.m.): You and me both.**

_______

_ (12:00 p.m.): Your cat has done it again. _

_ (12:15 p.m.): I have to leave in about an hour...are you okay with her being over here? _

_ (12:21 p.m.): You know, she’s pretty cute.  _

_ (12:50 p.m.): You’re probably stuck in another meeting. I’ll be back around 5. She has water and lunch meat. _

_ (12:51 p.m.): I guess we’ll find out if she can trapeze her way back over to your side.  _

_ (12:52 p.m.): Maybe get a new lock on the door. Child-proof it? _

_ (12:52 p.m.): Well. Cat-proof, more like. _

**(2:45 p.m.): GDI!!! I’m so sorry!**

_ (5:02 p.m.): Do you require proof of life?  _

**(5:10 p.m.): ???**

**(5:11 p.m.): I’m assuming you didn’t kill my cat.**

_ (5:11 p.m.): Assume away. _

**(5:47 p.m.): Give me an hour to get across town.**

**(5:50 p.m.): What do you want for dinner? For the trouble.**

_ (5:52 p.m.): I’m out of lunch meat now, but it’s nbd. _

**(5:53 p.m.): I insist**

_ (5:53 p.m.): Fine. _

Damen trudged towards his and Laurent’s apartments that night, one hand full of Veretian take-out, the other grasping his briefcase as he held his phone to his ear with his shoulder. His father was reviewing their day like a post-mortem, like he had done every day since Damen’s move. 

“The stocks for Griva Breweries fell today. Not enough for concern, but you know Makedon.”

“I already have a call scheduled with him in the morning,” Damen told him. “He’s on Isthima for a couple weeks. His daughter is getting married.”

Theomedes grunted, moving on. “Did you get back to Charls’s and Sons? They were looking at the silk farms in Thrace, and you know the father prefers you over me.”

“They haven’t heard back from the seller, but listen, Dad - I’ve got a dinner in five minutes.” Damen said, coming to a stop before Laurent’s door. If he didn’t bend the truth a little, the call would go on for another half an hour, and he doubted Laurent would accept a luke-warm dinner as an apology for Petal’s behavior.

“We’ll continue in the morning, then.” His father’s tone brokered no argument. “ I’m sending you the Skarva shareholder’s report. I expect a call first thing when you get in. ”

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’ll want to hear about your dinner as well.” With that, Damen’s father hung up the phone - no farewells or salutations - and Damen let out a quiet sigh in relief. In all the time they had worked in the same office, and for all the trust Theomedes swore he had in him, it seemed that half of Damen’s day was spent reassuring him that the Delfeur office wasn’t burning down around them and that yes, he still remembered to zip his fly when getting dressed. . 

The Skarva review - his phone pinged just then with the email - would go to the top of his remaining work for the day. Night. Early morning hours.

But now, his attention could shift to Laurent and the continued nefarious behavior of Petal. Petal, who seemed to be out to give him a heart attack, or force Laurent to talk to him on a regular basis with her wiley ways. After all, Damen had failed at getting Laurent to go out with him for a friendly drink, and every other suggestion of his had been shot politely down. For all her antics, Petal had achieved what Damen could not. 

Though their interactions had been fewer than Damen would have preferred - Laurent made it nearly impossible to glean anything from his demeanor. Sharp and purposeful, even via text, the only thing Damen really knew about him was that he could bake, he didn’t seem to mind Petal, and was unfairly attractive.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a quick wit. 

One might even say he was the embodiment of Damen’s Type.

Nikandros. Nikandros had been the one to say it. 

And while Damen was in no place to be looking for a relationship - the unpacked boxes stuffed in the guestroom, barren fridge, and ridiculous work hours all a testament to that - the pull he felt towards Laurent was impossible to ignore. Even if it only led to friendship. 

So, for all of Petal’s bad behavior, she seemed to have Damen’s best interest at heart. 

Laurent opened his door a few seconds after Damen knocked.

“She destroyed my couch,” he said, displeased, arms crossed and brow raised. 

Damen frowned. “What?”

“And my kitchen rug.”

“Really? I mean,” Damen sighed, because there was nothing else he could do. As much as Petal had been a creature of chaos since the move, destruction of property was new. “I brought dinner.” But that felt like a paltry offering now. “And I’ll pay for the damage.”

Then the corner of Laurent’s mouth raised and something sparkled in his eyes. Damen’s chest felt suddenly very tight for no reason. “She’s been sleeping on the couch since I got home,” Laurent said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Damen hadn’t had time during his one visit before - when being rushed from the balcony to the door by his new and enraged neighbor - to take in anything. Now, he was hit with the starkness, the neatness, and the fact that Laurent clearly had a place for everything. It was the opposite of his own home next door.

“She’s over there,” Laurent tilted his chin towards the couch as he moved toward the kitchenette. “Let me get plates. Want anything to drink?”

“Whatever you have.”

Petal was splayed out on the couch - white, a dark blue blanket folded neatly and hanging over an armest just so - her little ears flickering as she breathed deeply, still asleep. Gently running his hand over her back, Damen couldn’t help a smile. Even if she was a chaos demon, she was also the one constant in his life and it meant a lot to him that Laurent had made sure she was safe.

“She’s lived the high life today,” Laurent said when they met at the table. “I hope...she’s not on a special diet?” 

Shedding his suit jacket and tie, Damen shook his head. “She can have whatever. And will take it off a plate.”

“So her awful manners aren’t  _ that _ new, then.” 

Damen heard something creeping in through Laurent’s words. It almost sounded like fondness.

“Maybe she just has expensive tastes,” he offered instead. “Thank you for taking care of her.” 

“Of course,” Laurent said, handing him a glass of red wine - none poured for himself - and reaching into the takeout bags and letting out a quiet, “Oh.”

That sounded reassuring.

“Oh?” Damen repeated.

“The best Veretian restaurant is Berenger’s. Off of thirty-third. Guion’s,” Laurent continued, gesturing with the styrofoam container in his hand, “is good. You probably won’t notice a difference.”

“But you will,” Damen assumed. And here he had thought Veretian food was the safest bet. 

But Laurent didn’t look displeased. He only gave a little shrug and continued unpacking their meal. “Canap é s are always safe, unless it’s sardine canap é s.”

To his questioning looking, Damen shook his head. 

And so Laurent began to open the containers, offering approving hums here and there as Damen took a seat and a sip of the wine. It was dry. Barely tolerable. BUt after the kind of day he had had, he drank more.

With all the food spread out before them and his wine topped off, Damen watched Laurent for a moment, and then thought  _ why the fuck not? _

“Maybe we should go sometime. To...Berenger’s? I don’t know that I’ve ever had authentic Veretian cuisine. Or know any of the good places here.” It still felt like a shot in the dark, with the expectation that Laurent would only raise an eyebrow at him again or tilt his head in reply, in rebuke. But Petal had managed to orchestrate their evening just so. And Damen was armed with his second glass of awful wine on an empty stomach to help with the sting of rejection.

“That would require you making it home at a decent hour,” Laurent said, holding what looked like a small bread roll in hand. Which wasn’t a no. In fact, a new glimmer in his eye and the slight flush to his cheeks had Damen taking another sip of his wine. It was still awful.

“Now,” Laurent said, having finished his roll and then another in quick succession. “Would you like to hear about your cat’s adventure first, or tell me about your day?”

“Why don’t you tell me about yours?”

Later that night, when Damen should have been in his apartment and he should have been working, he instead still sat across from Laurent, plates empty, wine glass refilled, and watched as Laurent handfed Petal some chicken and let out a startled laugh, so bright, when the cat made her way properly onto the table to stick her nose in the Coq au Vin.

This time, when something gave way in Damen’s chest, it reminded him of contentment.

________

If Damen happened to have left a business card on Laurent’s table the night before, and if Laurent hadn’t managed to throw it away with the rest of the trash from dinner, it made perfect sense that he had Auguste on the phone doing some social media stalking. 

“What kind of name is ‘Damianos?’ He sounds rich.”

“Auguste, we grew up in a mansion.”

“It was on the smaller side, though.”

Laurent, who was making his way to the other side of campus, rolled his eyes. Short on time as he was, and refusing to have any social media accounts of his own, he still wasn’t sure this had been the best idea.

Still. “You were gifted a Porsche for your eighteenth birthday,” he reminded his brother.

“And you got that antique vase for yours.”

That antique vase had been from the early Artesian Empire and Laurent would have donated it to a museum had he thought his parents wouldn’t have noticed. As it was now, it sat in the family vault in Arles. 

“I merely said that his name sounds like it comes from some old Akielon money,” Auguste continued.

“You were literally named after our great-great-grandfather.”

“Yes. He was a Duke.” 

“Pot, have you met the kettle?”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes again and perhaps throwing his bag down with more force than necessary, Laurent took a seat on an empty bench, knowing he really didn’t have time for  _ this _ . “Have you found anything yet? I have ten minutes before my next class.”

“Which one is that?”

“Digital Curation.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“Auguste.” 

His brother let out a put-upon sigh as if he was the one waiting on information and being tormented. “You know, you could just ask him yourself...”

“I thought you wanted to help?”

“Laurent,” Auguste said, and there was too much affection in the name, “There is nothing I love more than your drama. Even when it’s dumb. Which, in case you didn’t know, this is.”

“I can’t see private profiles if I don’t --”

“Yes, yes. And even though he gave you his number, and even though you use it to speak to him every day --”

“We do  _ not _ .”

Auguste continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “-- it is up to me to give you the juicy details. Which...I....have. Maybe.”

Laurent looked to the heavens for patience and bit back on his next retort.

“Smart man. Has his Facebook locked. But...his Instagram…oh. That’s nice.”

Instantly focused back in, the grip on his phone tightening, Laurent asked, “What is?”

“Bi flag in his profile. So that’s settled. There’s also the wrestling men emoji? And the sun. Alright....This man posts a lot of pictures of his cat. And the beach. This caption says ‘missing the sun-emoji days’....that’s a view off a balcony…the cat...”

“What’s the caption?”

“Um…just the cat emoji and a heart. She  _ is _ pretty cute.”

Yes, everyone loved Petal, but that wasn’t important right now. “No,” Laurent said, “For the balcony.”

“Do you know this balcony?”

It was...possible. “As I cannot see the picture, I do not know,” Laurent said. 

“Have you been having clandestine meetings on balconies that I don’t know about?”

“I don’t tell you about everything going on in my life.”

August snorted. “Really?” 

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Caption, please.”

Auguste gave a  _ hrmmph _ in Laurent’s ear, continuing to be put upon. “It says ‘The views aren’t so bad, and neither is the company.’ HOLD ON!”

Well. 

“Thanks, Gus,” Laurent said, trying very very hard not to smile. He failed. 

And August started yelling. “THIS IS FROM LAST WEEK! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?”

As his smile widened, it was a little bit for anticipation, and a little for his brother’s reaction. “I don’t know.”

“YES YOU DO. TELL ME! YOU ARE HAVING CLANDESTINE - ”

“Thank you for the assistance, brother.”

“LAURENT REGINALD -”

“I couldn’t do it without you.” And then Laurent said a quick goodbye, most likely ignored as his brother kept yelling in his ear until the call disconnected, and went to class. 

_______

_ (9:17 a.m.): Did….did you just meow at Petal? _

_ (9:17 a.m.): And did she respond? _

**(9:18 a.m.): She has a lot to say.**

**(9:20 a.m.): Happy Saturday, btw.**

**(9:21 a.m.): Where does one get a decent brunch around here?**

_ (9:55 a.m.): Open your door. I have pastries. _

______

_ (2:50 p.m.): What are the chances of you escaping the office in time for Happy Hour? _

**(3:02 p.m.): Depends on the actual time. 50%?**

_ (3:04 p.m.): This place has decent drink specials and apps. It’s close to your office I think? _

_ (3:04 p.m.): (link) _

_ (3:06 p.m.): I want ficelle picard and you want to know where to eat. Two birds, one stone. _

_ (3:07 p.m.): They have socca too. _

**(3:52 p.m.): Petal gets to yell at you about her dinner being late.**

_ (4:00 p.m.): Will she be allowed out on the balcony to lecture me? _

It wasn’t hard for Damen to spot Laurent in the bar of Chez Casimir. It was too early for most people in the financial district to be off work for the night, so most of the tables were empty, and maybe it was the dimmed lights hitting his blonde hair just so, or the contrast of his dark blue sweater to his pale skin, or maybe the regal way he sat back in the booth as if he was surveying a kingdom. Some part of all that made Damen feel like if they were in any crowd, he would always be able to find the other man.

“At last check,” Laurent said by way of greeting, one finger tracing the rim of his wine glass, “Petal had yet to break out onto your balcony. But, I did leave an hour ago.”

“As always, I am comforted by your reassurances that my cat is alive.”

Laurent offered him a nonchalant shrug, his eyes searching for something over Damen’s shoulder. “Thought you might be late.” 

Collapsing into the bench across from him, work back and suit jacket tossed to the side, Damen offered his own shrug in return. “I have a massive migraine and had to go home early,” he explained, offering up the excuse that Lykaios and he’d decided would guarantee his escape from the office.

“That’s tragic.” Sarcasm dripped from Laurent’s lips, but his eyes were again on something beyond their table. 

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Damen nothing of consequence - only the dim lighting and slightly extravagant decor of the restaurant. After staring at computer screens all day, it was all another assault to his tired eyes. 

“I will be unreachable until the morning,” he explained.

“Oh, really?”

“The only cure may be cheap appetizers and cocktails.”

Laurent gave a small chuckle at that, and a matching shake of his head. When his steady gaze finally focused on Damen, he was smiling. It was small. Private. And then gone.

And yet, because of that, Damen added, “I think the company might help as well.”

“I’m glad you think so, and I’m sorry.”

“What -”

Laurent didn’t let him finish, “This really isn’t how I wanted the night to go,” he said, and as he reached across the table for Damen’s hand, his face was overtaken by an obscenely large grin as he turned to the person - a waiter with a sneer on his long face - approaching their table. “He’s here!” Laurent exclaimed, like it was the best thing to have happened to him all day. “I told you he was coming!” Then he gave an unnatural laugh. 

Damen opened his mouth. Closed it. Wondered if he indeed did have a migraine and was sleeping it off in his office, making this all a very suddenly weird dream. 

The waiter, pen poised on pad, didn’t even attempt to hide the way his eyes bounced from Laurent to Damen and then back to Laurent, his lips pressing together in displeasure.

“Traffic was awful,” Damen offered weakly as Laurent’s grip on his hand tightened.

“Are you ready to order then?” 

When the waiter left the table, Damen’s hand was still in Laurent’s, he had no idea what drink he had ordered, or any of the food Laurent had rattled off, but he had a pretty good idea on what was going on between Laurent and the waiter. And he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.

He only raised his brow, though, and waited for an explanation. 

“I got here twenty minutes ago, and lo and behold, Jeromé and his masters degree never left town,” Laurent said, letting go of Damen and sitting back in his seat. His voice had returned to normal, but the words were dry. Sarcastic. 

“And how do we know Jeromé?” Damen asked, though again, it seemed pretty clear.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “He had a lot of opinions about linguistics in the fifteenth century that somehow led him to my department last spring. He also managed to have even more opinions about how attractive I was, and how I should go out with him. I hope… that I didn’t overstep? Or assume,” He added the last bit softly, his eyes meeting Damen’s and then averting down to the table. “I should --”

Damen rested his hand over Laurent’s. From the corner of his eye, he could see the waiter at the bar, feel him staring. 

“You’ve never said…” Damen trailed off. 

It would have been crude to say he had wondered if Laurent preferred women, men, or maybe was interested in neither. Laurent, who kept nearly everything so close to his chest, behind a frown and a quirked brow. It had taken two months and the continued trapeze work of Damen’s cat to get them this far. 

Laurent gave him a wry smile. “Is this where I admit to stalking your Instagram? So...I knew.” 

That would be something to dwell on later. When it was too late at night and he should have been sleeping, or another night when he was out on his balcony just before sunset, and Laurent was on his. When it felt safe to wonder what would happen if he pushed just a little more, just a little too far. Would this fragile thing between him and Laurent fall apart or maybe…. Just maybe...

Clearing his mind and his throat, Damen spoke, “If you would rather go somewhere else, we can. If he’s going to make you uncomfortable.” He did not offer to make sure that didn’t happen, although there was a part of him more than willing to do so. With his fists, if need be.

“That’s not necessary.”

Damen raised a brow.

“He’s just an overzealous ass.” A pause, a tilt of that blonde head. “And I don’t give up that easily.”

And so, through an explanation on the finer arts of Veretian cooking and the importance of the type of mushroom for a certain dish, a drink that had been delivered and most likely spit in by Jeromé the waiter, there were hands held across the tabletop, and a few more instances of Laurent’s fake laugh. Endearing glances shared as the food started to arrive. A coloring to Laurent’s cheeks that Damen had never seen before. 

Damen was on his third likely tampered drink, refusing to acknowledge how the waiter had all but slammed the glass down before him and stormed away when Laurent broke character with a grimace. 

“I don’t think offering to pay for it will make things better at this point,” he said, “But I will.”

Damen shook his head once. “This isn’t the worst date I’ve been on. Not by a mile.”

“Oh?”

“There’s no ayahuasca or jet ski here…or a grizzly bear. We’re fine.”

That got a chuckle from Laurent - a real one - as he relaxed back into the booth. “Alright.”

_______

_ (9:05 p.m.): Wow, she’s really yelling. _

_ (9:08 p.m.): Feed the cat, Damen. _

**(9:09 p.m.) She HAS food. I told you she’d be mad.**

_ (9:10 p.m.): As an apology for keeping you out so late, tell Petal I owe her some salmon next time she sneaks over.  _

**(9:12 p.m.): She says that’s acceptable.**

_ (9:24 p.m.): Thanks for meeting me. _

_ (9:25 p.m.): I know the night didn’t go as planned, but for a fake date it wasn’t bad. _

_ (9:26 p.m.): It was kind of nice.  _

**(9:31 p.m.): It was ;)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas as always - I am nothing but overly verbose without them.


	3. Three

“Why are you sending me pictures of our cat with your blond neighbor?” Nikandros said when Damen answered his call. 

“Hi, Nik, I’m at work right now.” 

“When I ask for updates of Petal, I do not want to see your blond neighbor,” and Nik said with such disdain, Damen couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You already regale me with his greatness via text. I don’t need to see him with my cat as well.”

“How nice to hear from you ,” Damen replied. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. And you?” 

“I am only calling because you refuse to send quality photos of our child.”

“Any students set the lab on fire today?”

“No.” Nik gave a tired sigh. “None of that this week, thankfully. How’s life in your highrise office and your fancy apartment far away from all you know and love?”

Damen, spinning his chair to face the wall of windows in his office, took the view in for the moment. When he actually had the time to look, it was never disappointing, but it didn’t feel familiar. Not yet. 

“Still busy,” he admitted, tracing the distant mountains with his eyes. “Did you really call to bitch about Laurent?”

“I called because I haven’t actually heard your voice in over a month and maybe Petal did eat you.”

“Did eat me?” Damen repeated. 

“You’re lucky I know how hard you’re working, or maybe I would think that you’ve been killed by your neighbor and he was posting on your Instagram so we all thought you were still alive and falling in love with him.”

“Nik.”

“You can’t lie to me, Damianos. Not about this.” 

It was easy for Damen to picture the line forming between Nik’s brow, his mouth turning downward. It was an expression he knew too well from all the times they had these sorts of talks on their sofa back home, pizza boxes and a six-pack on the coffee table, whatever game was on the TV ignored for whatever was deemed an Important Life Discussion. 

But there was no important life discussion to be had, not like that, anyways. It had been a few weeks since he and Laurent had met for happy hour, and it had become a weekly appointment, but without bitter waiters possibly spitting in drinks. Just the night before, Laurent had suggested an Akielon restaurant that had actually been near authentic, even passable - but Damen had found the company to be better. And for once, he didn’t feel the need to share that with Nikandros. 

Whatever he and Laurent had, it was theirs. Damen liked it that way.

Clearing his throat, and deciding to ignore the importance of that revelation, he said, “You know, if you want someone to blame, your child --”

Nikandros cut in, “Oh, Petal’s my child  _ now _ \--”

“--Is the one who hopped balconies and forced me to meet Laurent. So really, you can take this up with her.”

“I would love to. Please have her call me at her earliest convenience.”

Damen laughed. 

“Did you give him a key? I know you meant to,” Nik asked, switching gears. 

“It’s just easier at this point.” 

Damen’s workdays had finally slowed to a dull roar and while he’d been making an effort to be home at a suitable time according to the cat, she was still doing her acrobatic performances on the regular. It made sense for Laurent to be able to put Petal back where she came from. He usually didn’t, letting the cat have free reign of his apartment if he was home, but Damen felt better knowing Petal couldn’t force her company on Laurent if he didn’t want it. 

“Alright,” said Nikandros as Damen let himself settle back in his chair, “Tell me about something you did that doesn’t involve work, or Laurent.”

Which of course was when someone threw open his office door.

It was Lykaios, out of breath, one hand bracing against the door and the other holding her notepad to her chest. “I just found out! Your father!” She took a big gulp of air. “He’s on a plane?” Another gulp. “And will be here within the hour?” That was nearly a shriek and Damen did his best to not react as the yelled fragments started to come together in his mind.

“Nik, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he spoke into his phone, ending the call before there could be a response. He then turned his full attention to Lykaios, and trying to maintain a semblance of the easiness he'd felt for the last ten minutes, asked, “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“I don’t! I just! I have  _ no idea  _ how this happened! Mr. Agathon - I mean - the other one!!! Your father’s secretary _ just  _ forwarded me their itinerary! And I bet that asshole is on the plane with him! He didn’t - your father hadn’t mentioned anything about a visit?” she asked, still short of breath and panicking.

Damen shook his head and then reached for the phone he had just put down. 

_______

“I don’t know when he’ll be home,” Laurent had told Petal when he’d opened Damen’s door and found the cat sitting in the little entryway, “But we’re going to make do just fine, aren’t we?”

Laurent felt that if a cat could have rolled her eyes, she would have done so. 

Instead, Petal slunk off down the hall with an unimpressed swish of her tail. 

He and Damen didn’t talk on the phone, and so when his phone rang a little bit ago, emergency sirens had started going off in his head. Was something wrong with Petal? With Damen? Was their apartment building burning down? Flooded? 

No, none of that, of course. Damen had simply made a quick request, tone terse and voice low. As soon as Laurent had agreed, the call had ended. 

If only his worry had been so easily sent away.

If only it hadn’t nagged him throughout his afternoon class, the train ride home, or as he climbed the stairs to their apartments (because of course the elevator was out again). 

Damen had asked that Laurent check on the cat - simple as that. He would send Damen a quick text, feed Petal and fill her water dish - and then call it good. Maybe pop over again if he got tired of his assigned reading or if he hadn’t heard from Damen after too long. No big deal. 

So naturally, Laurent had ended up on Damen’s couch - ignoring the way his stomach had been knotted since Damen’s call - with all the textbooks spread around Petal. She sat there, like a queen surveying her kingdom, listening intently when Laurent disagreed with an article. Everything was fine. 

He had even whispered those three words to himself, shaking his head as he highlighted part of an article.

Really, everything was fine.

It was hours later, in the midst of a Google-spiral - “How many articles has this Dr. Torgeir even published, this  _ moron,” - _ that Laurent finally heard the apartment’s door opening.

Petal, who had offered him a meow in agreement just before, went still between all the books, craning her neck towards the door. 

“I think he’s home,” Laurent told her with a little smile, feeling nonsensical relief of his own. “You should go check.”

Without looking away from the door, she meowed in agreement.

“Petal?” Damen called from the doorway, and then, questioningly, “Laurent?”

“Hey,” Laurent said, following the cat as she jumped off the couch. “There’s Chinese food in the fridge. I didn’t know what you liked…” and had proceeded to order most of the House Specials. As one did in a fit of uncertainty and worry. 

“Thanks.” The word was gruff, tired.

“It’s a good place, I promise.” Not that this was the most important detail, but he suddenly felt nervous. Which was just even more ridiculous than the worry. 

“Would you - yes, Petal. I see you.” Damen was looking down at the cat weaving between his feet, purring loudly. “I missed you too,” He told her sincerely. “Did Laurent feed you?”

Yes, but he wasn’t looking for an actual answer. Damen nodded along as if Petal’s purrs meant something, bending over and picking her up in one hand. “Please, do tell me all about your day, madam. I bet it was very busy.”

Petal purred even louder at that.

“Well….” began Laurent, reaching out for Damen’s briefcase before he realized what he was doing. It allowed for Damen to properly snuggle the cat, though. Not that he needed both hands to hold her and not that Laurent was charmed by the scene in front of him at all. 

“Her Majesty accepted my offering of food once she realized you weren’t coming home,” Laurent continued, “And then she proceeded to tell me all about how you weren’t home yet and how that was tragic.” 

Damen huffed out a chuckle into the cat’s fur. 

“She was then mollified by treats, which she showed me where to find.” 

They were in the end table’s top drawer, which the cat had helpfully paced before while yelling until Laurent took the hint. 

“I told you no more treats,” Damen said to Petal, his face still buried in her fur. 

“Oh, I’m - I didn’t -”

“They were with her food, but she tore open a bag the other day and proceeded to feast,” Damen explained. “Didn’t you Petal? You’re just too smart.” The cat gave a tiny meow in agreement. “Too smart,” Damen repeated and then with a dramatic kiss to the top of her head, put the cat down.

Laurent could see the circles under Damen’s eyes from exhaustion, the wrinkles of his button down from a long day, but he looked more alive than the slouched over version of a man who had come through the door a minute before. There was even a tiny smile, the flash of a dimple on his cheek, directed at Laurent.

And in it, Laurent finally found a little relief. Like that was all it took.  _ Oh, no, _ he thought as all his worry washed away.  _ This is much more serious than I thought. _

“Let me…”

“I’m going to -”

Petal gave an expectant meow.

“I can see your food dish from here. You’re fine,” Damen told her, and then turned back to Laurent, nodding at him to continue.

“I’m…” Laurent tried to swallow away the dryness in his throat and pulled his sweater away from his chest. He was very warm all of a sudden, and had nothing to do with his realization that he might be a little bit in love with Damen.  _ Oh, God. When had that happened?  _ “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You could stay.”

“You’ve had a long day.” Another swallow. He took a tiny abortive step towards his things. His things he had just spread out all over Damen’s place like he belonged there because the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t be welcome. Because somehow, Damen had become his favorite person and he had a pretty good feeling that second to Petal, Laurent was his and ---

Laurent swallowed again and refused to let this train of thought continue. 

How could he be falling in love with his fucking beefcake of a neighbor and have been unaware of it until this very moment?

How?

How was that  _ even  _ possible?

Flirting with Damen was all fine and good. His crush had been harmless. Trying to figure out if Damen felt the same way had been exciting but  _ THIS _ \-- 

Damen continued on, utterly unaware of the emotional turmoil going on right in front of him. “My father made a surprise appearance at the office.” 

And that was a completely other sort of record-scratch moment that had Laurent freezing, eyes gone wide with a different sort of panic. The idea of his own father waltzing into a class he TA’ed, or even just finding him outside the library, questioning Laurent’s work and studies - no. 

“It went just as well as you’re thinking it did,” Damen said, taking a hand through his hair and letting out a deep sigh. “I wouldn’t mind some company that can’t recall when I couldn’t tie my shoes or refused to eat my vegetables…Or put fear into the heart of every single person they employ.”

“I have no employees to torment.” 

“Yet,” Damen added, now over by the fridge.

“Yet,” Laurent agreed, and let out a long breath. Okay, so he could be in love with Damen. No big deal. It didn’t mean he had to run away and never see the man again. He didn’t even have to vacate the apartment this instant. 

He could be calm and rational and not run away to call Auguste like a pretty large part of him was desperate to do.

“What’s that?” He asked after taking another steadying breath, nodding at the large bottle Damen had in hand. He could play it cool. Suave. Unaffected. 

“Griva. Have you ever tried it?”

No, Laurent had not, and after the one shot he allowed Damen to pour for him, he wished he had never even heard the name. After the second shot, because he couldn’t let Damen drink alone after the day he’d had, Laurent thought it may be wasn’t the worst thing he had ever tasted. By the third, while his taste buds begged for mercy, he was pretty sure he could be in love with Damen and just never say anything about it.

Yes, that was a stellar plan.

_______

_ (8:05 a.m.): You’re an awful person. _

_ (8:06 a.m.): Truly the worst. _

_ (8:06 a.m.): I don’t know if there’s a large enough coffee for this hangover. _

_ (8:07 a.m.): I am expected to TA a class in an hour.  _

**(8:13 a.m.): Good morning, Laurent.**

_ (8:16 a.m.): I think I might be dying and I think it’s your fault. _

_ (8:16 a.m.): Good morning, Damen. I will be wearing sunglasses all day. _

**(8:25 a.m.): And I will be in meetings with my father.**

_ (8:28 a.m.): May the stench of that foul liquor no longer linger on you. _

**(8:28 a.m.): You know, a shower would fix that.**

_ (8:45 a.m.): I don’t believe you. _

_ (8:47 a.m.): It’s my late day on campus, but let me know if you need me to check on Petal. _

**(9:16 a.m.): If I’m not home by 7, send out the search party.**

“You’re three minutes late.”

Damen smiled to himself as he stepped out onto the balcony. He didn’t even need to see Laurent to know a brow would be raised expectantly, or that his eyes would shine with something more. Something that Damen didn’t really want to name just yet, but that made something knock loose in his chest. All the time. 

“Did you really kidnap my cat and send me a ransom photo?” 

“She could have jumped over here on her own,” Laurent said, leaning on the railing closest to Damen’s balcony and wearing a knowing smile. “She does it all the time.”

“Is this payback for the griva?” Damen asked. Because right now, there were no signs of a hangover that he could see. Laurent looked like someone with a few cards up his sleeve, or like someone who knew his plan wouldn’t fail.

“Your country has poor tastes in liquor. I should have known better.” 

Resting his forearms on the balcony railing directly across from Laurent, Damen cocked an eyebrow. It was much more entertaining to play this game in person than via text. He liked to watch everything as it played across Laurent’s face. 

“Laurent, where is Petal?”

“Inside.”

“May I please have her back?”

“My front door is locked.” Laurent raised one shoulder and then let it drop, like there was nothing he could do about that little fact. 

And Damen wanted to kiss him. 

It really wasn’t a new feeling. Not necessarily. But coming home unexpectedly to Laurent the night before, even as drained as he had been, and seeing him there with Petal, it had all felt...right. And if he could come home to them both every single night for the rest of his life - well, that was a pretty big statement to make.

He wasn’t sure if Laurent would want to hear that just yet.

And that was fine. Damen liked how Laurent was smirking at him now, feeling so safe and secure two feet away on his balcony, so sure he had won this game. He liked that Laurent even thought to play like that, to make sure Damen came home on time, and make sure neither of them spent the night alone.

And it was easy for Damen to play along by Laurent’s rules. 

Tugging on his sweatpant ties and giving his shoulders a little shrug, he looked between the two balconies. He had jumped the distance before. “Alright.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. Now, he didn’t look so sure. “‘Alright’ what?”

“Stand back.” 

“Damen, don’t you dare.”

“What?” He said as he gripped the railing. “How else am I supposed to get over there?”

“You can’t be serious,” Laurent said, but the word came out with a laugh as he took a step back, hands up as if the gesture alone could stop Damen.

He was ready to jump, but paused long enough to meet Laurent’s gaze. Raised a brow. “Are you going to unlock your door?”

“You can’t jump over here - Damen! Damen don’t you dare! DAMEN!” 

If any of the other tenants could hear the shriek and laughter that followed, the admonishing slap to his shoulder, or Laurent calling him a  _ “Giant Brute with no sense of self-preservation, I swear to god,”  _ Damen hoped they could also hear all the happiness that went along with it.

_______

When Laurent asked Nicaise if he could see his latest paper, the boy was slow to pull it from his folder.

“I did fine,” he muttered, the paper upside down as he slid it across the table. 

But he had done better than fine, and Laurent tried to stifle the pride swelling inside of him. The large A+ across the top of the page was a symbol of all of his, and at times, reluctant, work. Of all the hours spent at this table in silence while Nicaise read his textbook, or sighed loudly, or used a unique curse to get his unhappiness across. Of all the times Laurent had spent making sure the boy understood that he wasn’t stupid, just needed a little more motivation, and that Laurent wasn’t going to give up on him.

“Nicaise --” Laurent began, but was cut off with an eye roll and a lack of manners.

“Whatever. Is the cat still alive?”

“What?”

“Your neighbor’s cat. With the stupid name. Daisy. Tulip.”

“Petal.” 

“Yeah, whatever. Has your neighbor killed her yet?” it was asked so nonchalantly, so flippantly, that had Nicaise’s mother not told Laurent how hard Nicaise had been petitioning for the family to get a cat, he might have thought it was just the rude curiosity of a preteen. 

“She was alive last night,” Laurent said, and handed over his phone, camera roll open. 

It should have been concerning just how many pictures he had of the cat. Petal sunbathing in the one patch of sun on his balcony, sitting with her front paws crossed and looking at him  _ just so  _ from the couch, cradled in Damen’s arms like a baby, her fluffy belly out for all to see.

Laurent could still hear how loudly she had been purring when he took that photo. It was his favorite.

“ _ Who  _ is  _ that?”  _ Nicaise asked, nose wrinkling in disgust, and Laurent tried to hide his amusement. 

“That’s my neighbor, Damen.”

“He looks like a barbarian.”

“He’s from Akielos.”

Nicaise scoffed. “Same thing.” Then, taking the phone out of Laurent’s hands, he brought it closer to his face. “He’s massive. What if he steps on the cat? She’s too small. You should take her.”

“Right.”

“And bring her to me.”

“And what would your mother say about that?”

Nicaise deflated a little at the question and then swiped to the next picture of Petal, and then the next (there was truly an overwhelming amount of them). He swiped again. 

“Why do you have so many pictures of him anyway? Is he your boyfriend?” He held Laurent’s phone out to him as if that particular picture of Damen and Petal was somehow damning evidence. 

Damen had been on the couch with Petal in his lap when Laurent had snapped the photo; the cat had curled herself up perfectly and fallen asleep on her owner nearly twenty minutes, letting out a tiny snore here or there. If the two men had lowered their voices as they spoke as not to wake her, no one else would know. 

Laurent traced Damen’s dimple in the photo with his gaze.

“Oh god - you’re being gross!”

“Nicaise!” The boy’s mother reprimanded from down the hall.

The boy rolled his eyes, but handed Laurent his phone with a quiet, “Sorry. But is he?”

“Is he what?

“Your boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

Nicaise offered hopefully, “So you could steal his cat, then.”

Nicaise’s mother called his name like a warning again, her voice louder and closer than before, and that was the end of that discussion.

_______

  
  


“When did you get dishes for Petal?” Damen asked. 

“I did no such thing.”

Looking at the small dishes tucked into the corner of Laurent’s balcony and the fish shaped mat under them, Damen smiled to himself.

“Come on,” Laurent said, “I bet the brownies are cool by now.”

_______

**(9:43 a.m.): Landlord finally got back to me about the elevator. Looks like it’ll be another few days.**

_ (9:49 a.m.): Typical.  _

_ (9:55 a.m.): Thanks for checking.  _

**(11:30 a.m.): Govart from 3A was telling me someone got stuck in it this time.**

_ (11:32 a.m.): No, thank you. _

**(11:35 a.m.): Is this when you tell me you're claustrophobic?**

_ (11:40 a.m.): Let’s never get stuck in an elevator, and we won’t have to find out. _

**(11:41 a.m.): Depends on who you’re stuck with ;)**

_ (12:05 p.m.): Panic attacks aren’t attractive. Even on me.  _

_ (3:32 p.m.): Is tonight your work thing?  _

_ (3:33 p.m.): Booze and Briefcases or whatever? _

_ (3:34 p.m.): Wire transfers and Wine? _

_ (3:35 p.m.): Cocktails and Corporate Takeovers? _

**(3:37 p.m.): Briefings and Brews**

_ (3:40 p.m.): Damen, that’s not any better. _

**(3:41 p.m.): Back to your question, yes. That’s tonight.**

**(3:41 p.m.): Did you want to come?**

_ (3:42 p.m.): Maybe next time. Wanted to be sure we didn’t have plans. _

_ (3:43 p.m.): Friends in my department asked me out.  _

**(4:12 p.m.): History and Whiskey?**

_ (4:13 p.m.): No. _

**(4:16 p.m.): Artifacts and Amaretto?**

**(4:17 p.m.): Relics and Rum?**

_ (4:21 p.m): I beg of you, leave naming things to your H.R. department.  _

+

“Is this a drunk dial?” Damen asked by way of greeting, having just excused himself from a group of managing directors. 

“It’s eight p.m.,” replied Laurent.

“My question still stands.” 

“Damianos, I hold my liquor just fine.”

He grinned at that and waved goodbye to Lykaois and the other admins at her table who seemed determined to make a night out of drinks on the company’s dime. “Uh huh.” 

“I had one glass of wine and nachos. Which brings me to the reason for my call. Have you eaten?” 

“Not yet.” 

“I’m heading home and I want pizza,” Laurent explained. “Should I get a large, or are you going to want some ridiculously regrettable topping combination?” 

And it was a simple question. A bit demanding, as Laurent was wont to be, but what was underneath it was something so familiar that Damen thought  _ I’ve missed you today. _

What he said instead was, “There’s leftovers from the other night.”

“You can’t say a word if I get pineapple on it, then.”

And Damen promised he wouldn’t. 

He’d been home long enough to feed Petal, listen to her lecture while he changed out of his suit, and put some of said leftovers in the microwave before Laurent waltzed in.

“Wait, did you only get pineapple?” Damen asked as Laurent opened the pizza box in the middle of the table. Because that would be ridiculous.

“I had four people in my department explain the exact same sophomoric thesis to me for over three hours. And each time I had to pretend they were different and special and going to rock the archival world. I deserve this.” Laurent explained, and then pulled a piece of pizza from the box, the melty cheese coming off it in strings. 

“Right. But only pineapple?”

“Shut up,” Laurent said, but his mouth was half-full so it sounded more like ‘ _ shudp’. _

Damen looked from him to Petal and the back at Laurent. In turn, the cat looked between the two of them, and then meowed loudly.

“Your food dish is full,” Damen reminded her, but he was already cutting one of the  keftedakia on his plate for her. She’d been eating the Akielon meatballs since she was a kitten and knew them by scent. She would be begging Damen before long. 

And so what if he had reheated an extra meatball just for her. Or specifically made extra the other night so she would have some?It wasn’t like Petal knew that. 

“Google says cats can have pineapple. All the vitamins are good for them,” Laurent said, phone in one hand and pizza slice in the other. “Or blueberries. Those are like a toy she can eat.”

“And stain the carpet with.”

Laurent offered him a shrug at that and a small smile. He looked windswept and tired, and Damen was so glad he was here.

And this shouldn’t have been a surprise.

For three months, Damen had had this reason to come home at night beside Petal. Someone who cared that he ate at a reasonable hour, and who he wanted to make sure did the same. Laurent with his self-indulgent sweaters that were finally made necessary by the weather. His particular taste in coffee and croissants, and the order for both that Damen knew by heart. His brownie recipe, and how inconvenienced he seemed when he made each batch even though Damen never fell for it.

“Is there something on my face?” Laurent asked, breaking Damen’s reverie. 

“No,” Damen replied, clearing his throat, before making sure there wasn’t any pizza sauce on Laurent’s cheek. “No, you’re good.”

It was much later, after Laurent had shoved the leftover pizza in Damen’s fridge, kissed Petal on the head and then hesitated long enough that Damen had nearly reached for him, nearly pulled him close.

Instead, Damen found his way to bed, alone. Until Petal laid on his chest, headbutting him gently as she purred.

“Did you know this would happen?” He whispered to her, running a hand down her spine.

Another headbutt was his reply, this one to his chin.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

Damen didn’t get an answer that time, but he fell asleep to Petal’s purrs of reassurance. 


	4. Four

In a shock to no one (Auguste), Laurent’s long standing Friday pastry ritual had somehow -  _ “Somehow?” _ \- morphed to include Saturday mornings with Damen. 

_ “I wonder how that happened,”  _ Auguste had said.

_ “Oh, shut up,”  _ Laurent had replied. 

It wasn’t like it was a hardship. Two days of pastries felt just on the right side of gluttonous, and Damen’s sleepy eyes and messy curls...had nothing to do with the baked goods, but Laurent was only human. He was allowed to appreciate how magnificent Damen looked at any hour, but especially in the mornings when he wasn’t rushing to leave for work. 

And he always made a tiny sound of contentment, eyes falling closed, with his first sip of coffee. 

And it maybe made Laurent’s heart beat a little bit faster. 

The line outside the bakery was always long on Saturday mornings, but Laurent didn’t mind. Waiting with his hands tucked into the too-large jacket he’d grabbed, he let the sounds of the city coming alive, of pans stacking, the laughter of another patron, and the smell of espresso wash over him and he allowed himself to feel content. 

He was inside within fifteen minutes, and with most of his order boxed up, the old baker, Juliette, gave him her usual sly smile.

“And the croque monsieur for your beau?” Laurent had given up trying to correct her. 

“Two, please.”

“Where is he today?”

“Sleeping,” He supposed. Damen hadn’t answered his ‘good morning’ text yet.

“He works hard,” Juliette said, and Laurent made a noise in agreement, exchanging money for baked goods and lattes. “Works hard to keep you happy.”

Laurent wouldn’t be analyzing that whatsoever.

“See you next week,” he said instead, and made the short trip back to their apartments.

“Breakfast!” He called once he had Damen’s door open, expecting to see the man on the couch or hear the shower running, maybe Petal meowing. Instead he was met with an empty kitchen and living room, the lights off and curtains closed.

“Damen?” Silence. “Petal?” He tried, setting everything on the counter and waiting for a response. 

He heard the heater kick on, but nothing else. 

Laurent called Damen’s name again, checking his phone once more, but there was still no reply. He knew the man was home - or was supposed to be - as he’d messaged Laurent late the night before, saying his plane from Sicyon had landed and he was looking forward to their usual weekend plans. But even with how late he would have gotten back from the airport, the clock was nearing 10:30 now. Damen wasn’t that late of a riser. 

Also, Petal didn’t tolerate her meals being late. 

But there was her food dish, empty. 

Laurent called Damen’s name once more, walking down the hall to the half-closed bedroom door, sparing half a second to wonder if he was about to be the victim in a B-Horror movie before he saw an Akielon-sized lump in the middle of the bed, a tuft of dark curly hair all that stuck out from beneath the comforter.

Laurent took a hesitant step into the room, but froze when something started growling.

“Petal?”

She was laying at the foot of the bed, paws curled in under her, and eyes open in slits. 

“What’s wrong, little one?” he asked, eyes moving back over Damen and then once again to her. “Hey, Petal. It’s okay,” He tried to assure her, reaching out a hand and yanking it back as her growl went up an octave. “I just want to check on him.”

She moved to curl around Damen’s head like she didn’t approve of this unsolicited touching, her growl shifting to a loud and intimidating purr. No one was going to bother her human if she had anything to say about it.

Damen coughed, and she curled closer to him. Damen coughed again.

It was a wet, gross thing that sounded like an infection and really like Laurent should get out of there and sanitize everything, because Laurent was a very pathetic sick person and he couldn’t afford to miss class. Every sniffle, allergy flare up, seasonal cold - it was all god awful - and if he got a sore throat? Death seemed like the better idea than trying to swallow. 

So really, Laurent should have backed out of Damen’s bedroom, taken his coffee and pastries (no use wasting them) and sent Damen a ‘get better soon’ text and kept away for a week. For the safety of himself and all others who might have to deal with him. 

Instead, he took slow tentative steps towards the bed, trying not to scare Petal, and placed a hand to Damen’s forehead.

“Oh, Damen,” he whispered.

The man let out a groan.

+

“Damen! What’s going on, man? Did you see the photo I posted --”

“Is this Nikandros?” Laurent asked as he opened Damen’s fridge and scanned the contents, holding the unfamiliar phone to his ear. Now that he thought about it, he probably should have disinfected the phone. 

There was an awkward pause. His response, “Speaking,” lacked all of the warmth from just a moment before.

Laurent shut the fridge and turned to the cupboards. The first was full of pasta, most of the labels in Akielon. 

“This is Laurent. Damen’s - ”

“Neighbor,” the word was a tired sigh. “I know who you are,” Nikandros confirmed. “Why are you calling me from Damen’s phone?”

“He’s sick.” 

“How sick?” Nikandros asked, immediately concerned. “In the hospital sick? Ate strawberries sick? He did tell you he’s allergic to them, right?”

Laurent opened the next cupboard, frowning at the bottle of griva on the top shelf. “Strawberries aren’t in season. It’s just a cold,” he said. “I think. He got in late from a business trip and woke up like this.”

Nikandros gave a long suffering sigh.

“I don’t know what he likes when he’s sick,” Laurent explained.. “If there’s a soup or something…” He was looking at a shelf of broth and olive oil. A lot of olive oil. “Toast? Tea?”

“Buttered noodles,” Nikandros replied. “And spicy shit. The spicier the better. He swears it flushes his sinuses.”

Laurent reopened the fridge. There was a singular dried up jalapeno in the crisper. Still, he said, “Alright,” and mentally went through his own cupboards for chili ingredients. 

“None of that matters if the asshole tries to go to work tomorrow, though.”

“I -”

“Don’t let him go,” Nikandros said, words firm. “Because he’s a stupid idiot, and he’ll try to power through and swear to god he’s fine, and then he’ll get bronchitis again and be a miserable sop on the couch for two weeks and make you get everything for him because he’ll be too weak to move.”

“Is Petal with him?” Nikandros asked.

“Yes.” He explained that he'd fed her, too, but it didn’t seem like she cared about anything besides Damen. 

“She won’t leave his side until he’s better. She just knows that shit. But that’s how you’ll know he’s allowed to go to work.”

“Because the cat says so?” 

“Because Damen can’t be trusted with his own wellbeing, and she’ll sleep on his chest,” Nikandros confirmed. 

That didn’t sound as fail-proof as Nikandros was suggesting, but as Laurent closed another cupboard, he didn’t want to argue about it.

“I won’t let him go to work.” Most likely. “Thank you for answering, and for the suggestions.” Did Laurent have enough beans in his cupboard for chili, he wondered. All Damen had was chickpeas and lentils. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

“It’s nice to put a voice to the name,” Nikandros replied. “Damen’s lucky to have someone to take care of him. But he’s going to be the worst.”

“If he sneezes on me, he’s on his own.” 

Nikandros barked out a laugh as if caught in surprise, and Laurent ended the call. 

He waited a few seconds to see if there was any noise coming from Damen’s bedroom. He could be back from the store in less than an hour if he walked quickly. 

_______

Damen was supposed to be resting, but it wasn’t as if it took that much energy to simply read emails. Really. He was still on the couch, in sweats, with a blanket covering most of him. Petal was curled up on his feet. He was the perfect image of relaxation. Not a single stress in sight. 

As another email  _ pinged _ into his inbox, Damen sniffled. But it was a tiny sniffle.

“Don’t judge me,” he told Petal over the top of his laptop. The cat, whose eyes had been closed, opened one of them to meet his gaze. All Damen could see was disappointment.

But he really was feeling better - whatever bug had knocked him on his ass for the last five days seemed to be mostly out of his system. Surely he could handle emails. Maybe not all 200 of them, but still. Very little energy was required.

Damen sighed wistfully as he sent off another reply and opened the next email.

He’d made it through another five messages before he heard keys in the lock, looking up just in time to see Laurent coming through the door. He was bundled up, a vibrant blue scarf peeking out of his pea coat, his blond hair mussed, his arms laden with bags. When he turned towards Damen, his cheeks were pink. And he was smiling, which upon realization of what Damen was doing, turned into a frown.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I haven’t had a fever for two days!” Damen reasoned, his throat scratching at the last few words. Still, it wasn’t like he was breaking national security protocols by sitting on his own couch, for god’s sake. 

With a raised brow, Laurent hummed in reply and stripped off his outerwear. “And Petal allowed this?” He asked, coming over and scratching under the cat’s chin. 

“Petal doesn’t pay the rent.”

“Her presence is payment enough.” 

Petal purred in agreement.

Damen rolled his eyes, not endeared at all by either of them, and tried to turn back to his emails. Another three had just come in.

“That better not be work.” Laurent’s tone made it clear he knew that it indeed was, and there was no argument to be made as the laptop was closed and removed from his lap. 

“You’re not my father,” he reminded Laurent who’d managed to perch himself on the edge of the couch, laptop held tight to his check. 

“And thank god for that,” Laurent agreed, and then paused. There was a crease between his brows, a slight tick in his jaw. “Are you sure you’re feeling better? You still look a little pale.”

Damen couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of him when he was ill. It had probably been his stepmother back when he was a teenager, but before he was too cool and pretended like a sore throat was nothing or that a gross cough was anything more than a frog in his throat. Over a decade then, of suffering through on his own (well, with Nik trying to insult him into feeling better which had never worked). Just slamming cold medicine and hoping to get through the today and then tomorrow until he felt better. 

When Damen had woken up on Sunday with every muscle sore, his throat on fire, and head pounding, it had taken less than a second to prepare himself to suffer alone through the day and if possible, be at work on Monday as planned.

He hadn’t accounted for Laurent placing a gentle hand to his forehead. There had been cups of tea and cough drops on his bedside table. A massive pot of chili. The good tissues with lotion so his nose didn’t chafe. Fingers combing through his hair and a quiet “ _ shhhh”  _ when he’d coughed so hard his chest ached.

Even now, Laurent brought the back of his hand to Damen’s forehead. “You feel normal.”

Damen had to clear his throat, pushing down everything he was feeling that he could not say. Not now. Just...not now. Instead, he went with, “Is that your professional opinion?” and a glib smile.

Laurent’s fingers traced along one of Damen’s brows. “I think we should ask Dr. Petal.”

As if she understood him, the cat meowed and both men chuckled. And Petal meowed again. 

“I have to be back on campus at three, but I brought soup.” Laurent said as he pushed off the couch, and Petal followed, weaving between his legs as he went to her food dish. “I know it’s lunch time,” Laurent assured her. “We all know you’ll just expire if your dish is half empty.” 

Petal agreed very loudly.

“Even though you can’t tell time.”

Another meow.

“Yes, I know where it is. Thank you for showing me. Petal. No - come on. I will shut you in this cupboard.” Petal meowed again. It was the chattiest she’d been since Damen had gotten sick. “Then come out.” Damen barely heard the next meow. He coughed to cover a laugh. Then he coughed for real, and Laurent’s focus was back on him.

“I’m fine,” Damen tried to sound assuring. 

Laurent watched him for a moment, eyes slanted, before he turned back to the cat.

“Listen. I can’t feed you in there...alright. Goodbye, then.”

Damen watched Laurent close the cupboard door, wait a couple of seconds and open it back up. “Ready to come out?”

Petal let him know that she was not, actually. 

And so the door closed again, Laurent shrugging and then making his way back over to Damen with a takeout bag. “How long until she headbutts it open?”

“Two minutes,” Damen guessed, then, “Maybe three. Is that Avgolemono?” He could smell lemon and dill as Laurent opened the soup container, offering him a plastic spoon.

“I thought you would be tired of chili, and Nikandros said you liked it.”

Damen froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes lifting to meet Laurent’s. “You’re talking to Nik?” 

“He said you’re allergic to strawberries. And the worst patient ever.” Laurent offered the explanation easily, taking his spot back on the edge of the couch. “I wanted to know what made you feel better.” It was with those words that color returned to his cheeks, and Damen slowly put his spoon down, all those feelings he’d just tried to shove away making their way back to the forefront. 

The thing was, Petal was shut in a cupboard, but Laurent would never leave her there. Like he hadn’t left Damen in the last week, and how he knew down in his bones that he didn’t want Laurent to leave him, either.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Damen tried to make sure each word counted; even though the phrase was simple, that Laurent would understand just how much it had meant to Damen that he’d been here the whole time he was sick. That he was here now, plying him with even more soup and hiding his laptop behind a pillow. That he had been here since Damen had moved in and Petal and decided to try her hand at acrobatics. 

That somehow, they had made a home out of their two apartments, of the balconies and the city skyline. Of the restaurants they tried, and late night conversations that continued the next day via text. Of meals planned, and mutual complaints to the landlord. And oh, the nights when they would settle on opposites ends of the couch and just sit in silence - just  _ be _ . 

“Of course,” Laurent replied, voice quiet. “Where else would I be?” He asked, leaning in close and brushing back Damen’s hair. 

It was then that Petal figured out how to open the cupboard, the wood door cracking back against another, and both Damen and Laurent jumped at her scream of a meow. 

Whatever had been building just a moment ago between them was gone as Laurent moved back to the kitchen. Damen would have been disappointed - frustrated, maybe - that Petal always seemed to know when her interruptions wouldn’t be welcomed, and then forge ahead anyways, but Laurent was standing before her, hands on his hips, nodding after each meow, cementing himself further and further into Damen’s and Petal’s life. As if there was anywhere else for him to go.

“I’ve got to get going,” Laurent told Petal loudly, eyes shifting to Damen to be sure he was heard. “You’ll make sure your father takes a nap, right?” He asked, picking the cat up and bringing her back over to the couch. Petal didn’t have a response this time, but Laurent kissed her forehead anyways, setting her gently down on Damen’s feet and waiting for her to settle.

“I mean it,” he said then, turning to Damen. “Eat your soup. Take a nap. Watch whatever crappy daytime television is on. Don’t check your emails.” He finished, setting Damen’s laptop on the kitchen counter.

“You know, my legs aren’t broken.”

“I’ll take it with me,” Laurent threatened, but he was back by Damen’s side, his tone at war with his smile. “Just...nap first, okay?” He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to Damen’s forehead. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

“It-” Damen stopped, cleared his throat and tried to speak over the pounding in his chest. “It better not be soup.”

“Text me what you want instead,” Laurent replied, bundling himself back into his coat and grabbing his school bag. “Bye.” And then he was gone.

In the silence that followed, Damen stayed where he was on the couch, eyes locked on his closed door. He sat there long enough for Petal to walk up his legs, settling her paws on his chest.

“That just happened, right?”

Petal blinked.

“You saw that?”

Petal offered him a headbutt, her forehead hitting his chin, in reply. That could mean she wanted to snuggle, so Damen didn’t hold much stock in that, but it wasn’t the worst idea either. And his laptop was across the room; that was too far at the moment. 

“Alright,” he decided, and settled further down into the cushions. 

Petal snuggled in closer, her head coming to rest in the crook of his neck as Damen wrapped an arm around her middle.

It didn’t take long for her purrs to lull him to sleep, but before he did, he remembered the last email he had read before Laurent had taken his laptop. It had been from Lykaois: 

_ I know you’re dying (hopefully not) and probably can’t even think about anything beyond today, but I do need to know if you’re bringing a guest to the charity thing!  _

_______

“Baby bro!” 

“Hey, Auguste.”

“What’s the tea?”

It was right then that Laurent regretted everything that had led him to this moment. Every single thing that had brought him to calling his brother this time. “No.”

“What?”

“Just,” he shook his head, “Never say that again.”

Auguste hummed in contemplation. “It doesn’t work, does it? Am I officially too old for slang?”

“What do you think?”

Auguste scoffed, but then easily admitted defeat. Laurent could picture a nonchalant shrug as his brother said, “You’re probably right. Now, what do you need brotherly advice about today?”

“I call you for other reasons.”

“No you don’t.”

That was...a fair assessment, Laurent supposed. At least as of late. But he was an adult. A grown ass man who had chosen to go to a university a country away from his family and then decided to stay there.

And waited a whole twenty-four hours before calling his brother about this. 

“I’m pretty sure Damen asked me on a date,” He said, and the sigh that filled his ear was deep enough that he felt offended. “You  _ asked!” _

“I did,” Auguste admitted, sounding very put-upon. “Alright. Details.”

“His company is hosting a silent auction for a charity next week. With dinner.”

“You hate those sorts of things.”

Yes, when Laurent had been nine, he had hated many things his parents had dragged him to. Especially events where ‘silent’ was in the name. 

“And he asked me to go.”

“Mhmm,” Auguste said.

Peering out his balcony doors at the cloudy sky, Laurent muttered, “And I said yes.” Silence followed his declaration. Not silence - chewing. He could hear his brother chewing. “Really?” 

“What?” Auguste said after he swallowed directly into Laurent’s ear. “Your crisis is occurring on my lunch hour.”

“It’s not a crisis.” That wasn’t a declaration made to throw Auguste off. He hadn’t called his big brother because he was an idiot who didn’t know how he felt or what to do. It had been more of an itch, a need to share, that had made him pick up his phone this time. 

“It is a date, by the way.” Auguste took another bite of whatever he was eating, and after swallowing said, “You two have been going out for awhile.”

A weak denial came from Laurent’s lips. “We have n --”

“Didn’t he meet your friends from school the other week?”

Jord was hardly a friend, and he and Vannes had merely been walking with Laurent when Damen pulled up by the campus library. They’d had dinner plans, as usual. 

“And you brought him lunch that one time --”

“How do you know that?” Laurent asked, but was ignored. 

“And his latest post on Instagram is some blond guy holding his cat while standing on a balcony. Said blond’s face is turned away from the camera, but…”

“Are you looking at it right now?” 

“If I were to have Damen the Neighbor’s Instagram bookmarked, that would be none of your business.” Auguste said, and then took another obnoxiously loud bite of his lunch. Laurent wrinkled his nose at the sound. When the chewing had stopped, his brother continued; “Now, serious question: do you want this to be a date?”

Laurent did. 

“Alright, then. We need a game plan.” 

And Laurent let out another sigh, but he also made sure to listen. 

Auguste’s plan was simple:

**Step One:** Laurent had to make sure his good suit still fit.

**Step Two:** If not, he would need to purchase a new suit in a color that best set off his eyes. (Laurent had rolled his eyes at that, but also made the note.) 

**Step Three:** “You’re charming as hell when you want to be,” Auguste had said. 

“That’s not advice,” replied Laurent, brow furrowing.

“Maybe instead of taking up competitive fencing at thirteen, you could have been learning how to flirt. I don’t know, I can’t tell you how to do it  _ now. _ ”

It would have been unkind to remind Auguste that he was indeed the worst, and that Laurent had only thought fencing was cool because his brother had been doing it first, so instead he had made a noncommittal noise and let his brother continue on with his age-old ( _ “Calm down, Grandpa. You’re thirty-six.” _ ) wisdom. 

But it seemed that Auguste had left out how to handle Damen looking like - Laurent swallowed loudly as he held open his door -  _ that.  _ It was truly, completely, and arguably unbelievable how good Damen looked. In a dark red suit. Perfectly cut to his proportions - that waist. HIs hair combed back so one. single. curl. Fell perfectly over his brow. 

“Wow,” Damen said. “I mean, hi. Hello.”

Laurent opened his mouth, letting out a whine he hadn’t known he was capable of before that moment. Clearing his throat and ignoring the sudden heat in his cheeks, he managed a small, “Hi.”

“This is how I go,” Laurent whispered.

Damen tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing!” Laurent replied, and he tugged on his shirt cuffs for something to do. “Nothing at all.”

Auguste’s  **Step Four** ran through his mind: “I love you, Laurent. I am really saying this with all the love in my heart. Don’t be an awkward dolt.” Which had seemed offensive at the time, but as Laurent was currently calculating the odds of tripping if he took a step towards Damen, seemed like a fair assessment of his character.

“Are you ready?” Damen asked, with his own shy smile. This was new after all. Different. “There’s a little bit of a drive.”

“Of course,” Laurent said with a nod, moving a hand to tuck his hair behind his ear, then remembering it was braided back and over his shoulder. His hand was frozen up by his face, like an awkward idiot.

He really shouldn’t have taken quite so many fencing lessons. 

But Damen offered him a hand with a nod towards the door, and there was little else Laurent could do but let himself be pulled out into the night. 

_______

_ All donations and costs of winning items will go towards,  _ “The Humane Society of Delfeur,” Laurent read from the sign before them, “Benefiting pet adoption centers across the city. Did you plan this?” He asked. 

“Would you be impressed if I said I did?” Damen smiled at him again - maybe he hadn’t stopped since Laurent had opened his door - but shook his head. “The old head of our Delfeur division started this years ago. He had a farm for rescue animals - cows, and pigs. Horses. And my father loves a good write-off.”

“All corporate men do,” Laurent agreed, eyes back to the sign. 

It had been a simple question to ask - nothing too deep about the words ‘How do you feel about a charity event?’, but Damen had been agonizing over it for a week before he asked, running it by Nik - “ _ Oh my god, just ask him so I will know peace again” -  _ and Petal, who of course had listened intently and then given herself a bath instead of answering. 

All of that so when he finally asked Laurent, he’d just asked what day it was and then agreed, never breaking stride as he stirred the risotto on the stove. And then, he’d opened his apartment door looking like one of those Old Artesian Empire statues from his textbooks. All straight lines and elegant cuts. Carved from marble into perfection that befit royalty. 

Now, he held Damen’s hand tightly in his, his severe expression melting as he turned away from the sign, meeting Damen’s gaze again. “I think I see Lykaois. Do you want to say hello?”

As was bound to happen at any company function, if Damen stood still for too long, he was caught between this donor or that client. And so, their one glass of champagne with Lykaois quickly turned their corner of the room the center of socialization. 

“Is your father here?” One donor asked, sipping from a whiskey tumbler.

“I do hope the society can build a new dog run,” said another. “We went there last month to pick out a puppy for our daughter and you wouldn’t  _ believe…” _

“More champagne?” Lykaois offered Laurent who was still nursing his first glass. Damen took the drink for himself. 

“Damianos, last time I saw your father…”

“...And the amount of space they have for horses,” The donor scoffed. 

“My boy, do you have time to discuss…”

And so it went, and on and on long enough that Lykaois had switched out the champagne flute in his hand a second time, and when he turned to offer Laurent an apologetic smile, he wasn’t there. 

“By the auction tables,” Lykaois whispered before taking her own leave of the group of middle-aged men with the raise of her glass.

The latest client to arrive had been talking Damen’s ear off about cloth imports - “Really my boy, Kemptian silk!” - and didn’t seem to notice his eyes scanning the room. “You watch the runways this spring!”

“If you’ll excuse me, Charls,” Damen said, having finally found Laurent, “I’ve seemed to have lost my date.”

“Oh my!” The older man’s eyes went wide, and then followed Damen’s line of sight. 

Laurent was looking down at one of the auction items, hands clasped behind his back, unaffected and unaware of everyone else around him as he slowly moved to the next listing.

“Is that him?” Charls asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “What a fine young man. Off with you! But keep an eye on the silk! I’ll be calling to discuss the stock options on Monday!”

“Looking forward to it,” Damen said, like the good businessman his father had raised him to be, and slowly made his way to Laurent’s side.

“How much would you pay for fourteen-carate gold cat statues? They’re over a foot tall.” Laurent said as he took the champagne flute Damen offered him. 

Damen’s glass was mostly empty, and he sat it down next to the bidding sheet, reading the ridiculous amounts that had already been offered. “Petal would knock them over.”

“Even from the bookshelf?”

“She would find a way,” Damen assured him. 

“You could gift them to me,” Laurent said dryly, his brows raising in jest. “If you think I’m worth it.” 

Damen wasn’t sure there was a way to play it cool when his first thought had been that Laurent was worth it all. Even hideous $24,001.00 gold cat statues. 

But Laurent didn’t seem to read anything into his silence and after taking a small sip of his own drink, he reached up to brush a curl from Damen’s forehead. The one he hadn’t been able to get to stay back. 

Damen said, “I hope you’re not too bored.”

“No.” Laurent shook his head, his fingertips brushing down Damen’s cheek. “I know it’s not a night off for you.”

“Still.”

Laurent made a noncommittal noise, his fingertips still lingering on Damen’s skin. It was the lightest of touch, but Damen felt it in his bones. In the tightness in his chest. 

“I might try to kiss you later,” the words came out on an exhale as Damen moved so there was barely a respectable amount of distance between them. 

“Oh?” Laurent said, unphased, but when Damen took his free hand, he could feel a slight tremor. 

“If the night goes well,” Damen explained, and he saw the lightest pink color Laurent’s cheeks before he averted his gaze. “If that’s alright with you?”

He saw Laurent’s adam's apple bob once, twice, and then Laurent looked back up at him, a sly smile playing across his lips. “Only if you win me those cat statues.”

_______

“Are you calling me from the bathroom of your fancy date?” Auguste said, skipping all pleasantries and greetings because he was a jerk who didn’t care about his little brother’s feelings. 

“Auguste!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I think there’s dancing!” Laurent’s voice went higher with each word.

And Auguste laughed. And laughed. Called for his wife - “Yvette! Laurent’s going to have to dance!” - and then laughed some more. “Wait! Wait! We took ballroom dancing classes!”

“No, we didn’t,” Laurent said, which was the root of the possible issue here. That and the large circular space on the edge of the dining area. And Damen’s gorgeous charming everything that he would be unable to say no to. 

“That’s right. I took the lessons. You conveniently broke your ankle horseback riding right before they were supposed to start.” Auguste said. “ _ Hmmm. _ ” 

Laurent ended the call, head back against the stall door. It was a nice stall door. Very sturdy. His head knocking against it made a sound like it might be actual wood. It probably was, in this part of town.

Like the dance floor was most certainly real oak. 

A notification brought his phone screen back to life. Of course, Auguste couldn’t leave well enough alone.

**_(9:22 p.m.): Stop hiding in the bathroom._ **

**_(9:22 p.m.): First of all, it’s gross. Second of all, Damen the Neighbor is probably looking for you._ **

Laurent rolled his eyes.

**_(9:23 p.m.): Don’t roll your eyes at me, either._ **

_ Leave me alone,  _ Laurent replied.

**_(9:24 p.m.): Stop hiding and go kiss your date._ **

_ You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me and I worry for your future children, _ Laurent sent back.

When he returned to the banquet hall, it was to the fearful sounds of a Viennese Waltz, but there didn’t seem to be anybody taking the deejay up on the offer. Probably because there wasn’t an in-person orchestra. 

All the guests were gathered at the edges, though, or crowding the bar. Laurent could see Damen, leaning over a table of guests in conversation, throwing his head back in a laugh.

“I hope he’s getting every single one of them to bid on those cat statues,” Lykaois said, coming up to Laurent’s side, sliding her phone back into the folds of her dress and sipping on another glass of champagne. 

“I asked for them,” Laurent said dryly, “But I don’t know where to put them.”

“They would add something to the mantlepiece,” Lykaois agreed with a posh accent, her nose in the air for added effect. “Or the toilet.”

“Right on top of the medicine cabinet.”

“Or in it. Oh. Oh man. Imagine them in the closet of a guest room. Have them right there so when someone opened the door -” She made a face of horror, eyes wide, mouth agape. 

For a second, Laurent imagined Auguste’s face if the statues were to appear in his bedroom closet. The hall closet. On the desk in his office. Oh, those ugly little things would be well worth the price.

“I’m so glad we have Damen in Delfeur,” Lykaois said as both of their gazes followed him into the crowd, cat statues forgotten. “The guy before him was a tyrant, I swear to god. And he made me get his lunch every day from this place that’s like twenty blocks away from the office! Damen would never do that.”

“You would have my permission to stab him with a fork if he did,” Laurent said, but he agreed - Damen wasn’t like that with his employees. 

“Oh my god - the other guy, what an ass. He would call me at all hours of the day on my cell phone, too. Like, at nine p.m. or on the weekends.”

Laurent thought that once again, Damen would never do that. And if he tried, Laurent would throw his phone off the balcony.

“Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad Damen is my boss, and I’m glad he has you.” She emphasized with a squeeze to Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent could smell the champagne on her breath as she went on, “And Petal! I love that little creature so much! I hope you guys remembered to feed her before you left.”

“What?”

“I love how lippy she is about it,” Lykaois went on with a little laugh. “Damen’s played me a video of her demanding her wet food. I love her meows! I’m sure you know all about that, though.”

“Yeah.” Laurent was replaying all of his and Damen’s conversations of the night as quickly as his mind could manage, his brows knitting together further and further as he came to an awful realization. “Lykaois, I’ve got to...”

He found Damen near the bar, a whiskey glass full and company on all sides. More middle-aged men and women dressed to the nines, vying for his attention and a good cause to put their money towards in the gaudiest of ways. Laurent really didn’t want to interrupt that. But.

There was some slinking, a shimmy and a tight squeeze between the bar and the man to Damen’s right before Laurent was in his ear. “Did you feed Petal?”

Laurent could see the moment Damen understood what he was asking. The slight freeze of his hand, halfway to his mouth with his drink. The pause in his breath. The tightening of his shoulders. 

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Apologies for the late update...I had to put my 13 year-old cat to sleep unexpectedly last week, and then the U.S. election took 17 years off my life, and THEN I had to celebrate so basically Petal is immortal, the fascist has been fired and here's an update!
> 
> I am sorry for the wait, and you'll notice the chapter count has gone up again. I felt this chapter was packed with enough on it's own without finishing the fic off in one long long long chapter. So, I will have this done before December. Barring another real life situation.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Five

“Are you sure you didn’t feed her?” Damen asked him from the corner of his mouth as they left the party, holding Laurent’s hand a little too tightly. 

“But did I tell you I was feeding her?” Damen asked in the elevator, and then again when they waited for the valet. Then, frustrated, “How long does it take to bring the car around?” 

Laurent offered the other valet a conciliatory smile. Well. It was more of a grimace than anything, but there was a minor crisis unfolding, and not one that he could explain without sounding mildly insane -  _ Sorry sir, but he can’t remember if he fed the cat and even though she’s not mine, we sort of have joint custody and by the way, this is our first date.  _

So Laurent grimaced harder and made sure to tip them well and let Damen continue to ask him if Petal had been fed.

“Damen, when would I have had time?” He asked when they were in the car, hands tightening on the steering wheel with each word. He was the only sober one of the two. “I haven’t been to your place in two days.”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“Academia.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Laurent watched Damen open his mouth to argue again, close it, and then finally nod.

And then again, “But did I tell you I was feeding her?” 

“I don’t know, did you?” Laurent replied, terse and focused on the road. One didn’t need to drive in Delfeur, especially not someone who kept to his corner of the city most of the time. And when Laurent did drive, it wasn’t some sort of luxury car that had doors like a spaceship. 

Absently, he knew his brother would love Damen’s car. And at a later date, he would brag to Auguste about driving it. But right now, the last thing anyone needed was for the two of them to end up in an accident while racing back to the cat. As he blew at some hair that had come loose from his braid, falling directly into his line of sight, Laurent admitted to himself that it was also, quite frankly, a car crash would probably be more than he could handle right now.

He tried to blow the hair out of his eyes again, but he could see Damen moving in his periphery, and wasn’t surprised when he brought up a gentle hand, to tuck the hair behind his ear.

Laurent cleared his throat.

“Hi,” said Damen. 

Laurent could see his smile, bright even in the dark of the car. “Hi.”

“Thank you for driving.”

“Of course.” Then, mostly to himself. “You totally forgot to feed Petal!”

“I was a little distracted,” Damen admitted. 

As Damen’s hand settled on his thigh, Laurent smiled out the windshield. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“Still should have fed the cat.” 

But it seemed like all their worrying was for nothing. 

Once they were home and back in Damen’s apartment, everything looked...perfectly fine. There was a tipped over glass on the table, but it must have been empty because there was no puddle beneath it. And the remote was in the middle of the living room next to one of Petal’s toys. 

“Petal?” Damen called, tossing his keys onto the table.

“Little one?” Laurent’s his eyes scanning over the living room again. “We’re home!”

There were a few seconds of silence, and then a muffled meow.

Damen called her again, eyes slanting as they heard another small meow. 

Laurent couldn’t pin-point where it was coming from, but it took Damen only a couple of seconds to about-face to the kitchen. 

“Petal?” He called a third time, and when another meow came Laurent followed Damen into the kitchen where surrounded by kibble, the bag torn open and spilling out of the cupboard was --

“Petal Marie.”

Laurent had never heard the cat’s middle name before, but he wasn’t shocked that she had one - a cat of Petal’s standing required such distinction. It wasn’t as if the use of it shamed her, either, as she slowly turned at Damen’s voice, her brown eyes sleepy and uninterested. 

“What did you do?” Damen asked.

Petal blinked in reply, a sleepy dragon surrounded by her hoard. 

Laurent covered a laugh with a weak cough, and when Damen turned his glare on him, Laurent couldn’t help another laugh from coming out, and then another, to the point he had to to turn away. 

“It’s not that funny,” Damen muttered.

“Not at all,” Laurent agreed, back to him. 

Petal meowed rather meekly at that, and Damen let out such a deep sigh that Laurent had to press his lips firmly together to stop himself from laughing again.

“This wasn’t how I pictured the night going,” Damen said.

“The dessert menu was boring anyways.”

“Really? I like eclairs.”

“That’s because you’ve never had mille feuille,” Laurent explained. “I’ll grab the broom.”

The kitchen was small and shouldn’t have taken long to clean, but Petal had outdone herself, managing to throw her kibble not only beneath the stove, but everywhere.  _ Everywhere.  _ Laurent had found some under the fridge, and was still working to get a few more pieces out as Damen swept his way to the center of the kitchen.

“I don’t know how you could still be hungry,” Damen told Petal as he scooped up a dust-pan’s worth of kibble with the cat desperately pawing some back towards herself. “This isn’t even the good stuff.”

“Can you imagine if she could open the fridge?” Laurent asked, putting his own pile back into the food bag. 

“No. Just…” Damen shook his head. “She’s too powerful already.”

Laurent surreptitiously pushed a few errant kibbles Petal’s way, listening to the loud  _ crunch _ as she bit into one and then reached for another from Damen’s pile. 

“Could she open the cans?”

“Don’t give her any more ideas!”

When the kitchen was presentable and Petal was staring forlornly at the bare floor around her, Laurent stood up, feeling strangely accomplished and energized. Like maybe their night didn’t have to end on the kitchen floor and with a lackluster goodbye.

“Do you have ice cream?” He asked.

“I think so?” Damen replied, noticeably tired. Laurent watched as he scratched behind Petal’s ears even as he glared at her. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he told her, finally pushing off the floor and joining Laurent by the freezer.

But Petal merely meowed, eyes expectant.

Laurent held the half-gallon of vanilla ice cream, looking from the cat to Damen and then back to the cat. 

Petal yowled.

“What could you possibly need?” Damen asked with a sigh. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms like a baby. “What is it that you are missing?”

Petal pawed at Damen’s chest once, twice, chirping at him.

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Ma’am.”

Petal reached towards Laurent with her other paw and then pawed Damen’s chest again, flexing her claws out and in.

“You are not getting any ice cream,” Damen told her, reaching for the container with his free hand, and Laurent let him take it. 

He turned to get them bowls and spoons when he heard Damen exclaim, “Do not!” and Laurent corrected his course, seeing Petal wriggling and thrashing in Damen’s hold, determined to throw herself to the floor. 

As Petal twisted free, Laurent took a quick step forward, arms out to try and save her. Damen had moved too, and they caught the cat between them - four hands clutching at legs, around her belly, and in one hand, Laurent held tightly to her tail. 

The sound Petal made, pressed tightly between them, would have been funny if Laurent hadn’t suddenly felt the press of Damen’s solid chest against his arm, or his own heart accelerating and breaths speeding up with it. Damen stood stock still, his gaze locked with Laurent’s as he licked his lips. When he breathed out, Laurent could feel the cool air on his lips, they were that close.

Laurent’s heart beat out of control.  _ Oh, _ he thought, and if possible, his heart beat even faster.

Damen said his name, low and like a promise. “I said I would kiss you tonight.”

Laurent swallowed. Nodded. He had been thinking about that all night. 

Damen said, “If that’s alright with you.”

Laurent had spent many nights, many walks across campus, and lost minutes over a warm cup of coffee wondering what it would feel like to kiss Damen, and his fantasies hadn’t been close. Not even once.

Damen’s lips were soft as they pressed against his, a little dry and tentative at the same time. He kissed with a gentleness that Laurent hadn’t expected, but that he melted into all the same.

Between them, the cat meowed, a pathetic noise of defeat that startled them apart just as suddenly as they had come together.

A quick laugh and Petal being let down had them face to face again. Still close. Still not close enough.

“Kiss me again,” Laurent whispered, up on his toes so he could cup Damen’s cheek and pull him in. 

Their next kiss hinged on desperate - Laurent felt it deep in his bones. The weeks of anticipation, of quiet want. It made him brave, parting his lips when they came together for a third time, whimpering when Damen traced his bottom lip with his tongue, and then bit down gently. 

Laurent tried to push himself further into Damen’s arms, a hand grasping a bicep, tracing the line of his collarbone through his shirt, up to his neck. They kissed again because they couldn’t seem to stop, and Laurent didn’t want to stop, would never want to stop. 

Damen tugged Laurent forward, the last little bit of space between them erased as Laurent backed against the counter, then on the counter, his legs wrapping around Damen’s middle.

“Alright?” Damen whispered, the words a puff of breath on Laurent’s lips.

Laurent didn’t know what to ask for. What else he could want right then. He only knew that Damen had to kiss him again, right now, and maybe forever if possible. 

“Do you…” Damen began, words trailing off as Laurent felt him nibbling on his jawline.

“Should we…” he started, not sure what his suggestion was going to be. But there was another meow, this time Laurent was sure of it as he braced his hand against the counter, lifting his hips up to meet Damen’s and felt --

A cat biting his hand.

Laurent jerked away from Damen, yanking his hand off the counter at the same time. “Did you just  _ bite me?” _ he asked the cat who looked at him like he was the one interrupting things. 

“Petal,” Damen admonished, panting out her name as he still held tight to Laurent’s hips.

Petal of course, didn’t care that she had ruined the moment, curling her front feet underneath her body like a disgruntled loaf of bread. 

“Are you okay?” 

A quick look at his hand proved she hadn’t broken the skin. Laurent nodded.

He could feel the flush in his face as Damen pulled away, and Laurent felt wild, his breath coming out in pants as Damen stood across the kitchen now, all the distance between them the room allowed, even if the look in his eyes made it clear it was the last thing he wanted.

“We should --” Damen tried again as Laurent jumped down from the counter. “I need a minute.”

“Yeah.” Laurent tried to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. Rolled his shoulders, breathed in and out. 

“I need a minute,” Damen repeated, pushing himself off the counter and towards the hallway. Then he paused, turning back to Laurent and licked his bottom lip. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Laurent nodded, and even as Damen left the kitchen, he stayed pinned to the counter. 

From beside him, Petal chirped. 

Laurent glared at her, then at his hand. 

With more air in his lungs, and the scent of Damen lingering around him, Laurent could admit that without the cat’s interruption, he wasn’t sure how far he and Damen would have taken this, them - and on the kitchen counter no less.

“A hell of a first kiss,” he murmured, and for a brief moment, he could feel Damen’s lips against his own. It sent a warm, delicious heat down his fingers and toes. Laurent let himself bask in it. Just for a moment. Then with a heavy sigh, he pulled the defrosting ice cream over to him. 

When Damen came back, there was a bowl of ice cream waiting for him at the table, Laurent in his usual seat across with a bowl of his own.

“I found chocolate syrup,” Laurent said, nodding towards the bottle on the table and trying to sound normal and like he still wasn’t an inch away from combusting. Like Damen would just have to look at him a certain way and he would be crawling across the table and into the other man’s lap. 

Damen, for all the time had taken, looked a little worse for wear. His hair was slicked back with water - a droplet ran down his forehead before he brushed it away, and there were still creases in his shirt from where Laurent knew he had grabbed him. 

Clearing his throat, Laurent had to look away from the heat in Damen’s gaze and picked up his spoon. 

“I know it’s not eclairs,” he said with a gesture at the bowls. “But…”

That seemed to spur Damen into action, and he came over and took his seat across from Laurent, nudging their feet together under the table. 

“Alright?” he asked, eyes back on Laurent’s, t studying.

“Of course. Well,” and he paused, wanting to break the tension. Wanted a break for half a second because while dessert had been a good plan half an hour ago, now the only thing Laurent could think about was kissing Damen now and tomorrow and next week. “I was wondering who won those hideous statues, actually.” 

Damen barked out an unexpected laugh, and Laurent felt like he’d won. Again. “I’m just saying,” He went on with a shrug, swirling the chocolate syrup into his ice cream, “They would have really set off my bedroom.”

“Oh, yeah?” Damen said with another laugh, that one curl falling back into his eye. 

Laurent was very much affected by that, but tried to not let it show. “Would have been a good weapon too. For all the balcony intruders I seem to have.”

Damen hummed, focused on his ice cream, and Laurent focused back on his own. The clinks of spoon to bowl filled the quiet, as did a purr from wherever Petal had hidden herself this time, and Laurent still wanted to kiss Damen very much. But it felt nice. 

“What did you say those pastries were called?” 

“Mille feuille,” Laurent said, and then explained the greatness of custards and puff pastry in that particular form and how it was truly better than all other Veretian pastries. “I’ll check if the bakery makes it for next week.” 

“And would we consider that outing to be a date?” Damen asked.

“The bakery?” Laurent asked.

Damen nodded. “Maybe with a better outcome than tonight?” he said, sounding hopeful, but Laurent also knew that he was checking that they were okay. That no boundaries had been irrefutably damaged or their friendship left in tatters and Laurent had only stayed because he’d asked him to. 

With a nudge to Damen’s foot, Laurent licked his spoon. “You’re the one who's done psychedelics on a date. This has to be better than that.”

Damen let out a chuckle, but still studied him. “That depends.”

“On?”

“Smugness doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s a lie,” Laurent disagreed. “Please stop looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know how good you look.”

Damen shrugged and smirked. The handsome bastard. “Doesn’t mean you can’t tell me.”

“Don’t be cocky.”

“Laurent, no one could feel cocky around you.”

Laurent said nothing. He waited for Damen to get back to his original point, scraping up the melted ice cream in his bowl and licking the spoon again. He did not -  _ did not  _ \- have any intentions with said actions. Watching Damen’s eyes widen like a cartoon character’s was fun, though.

“I would very much like to see you again, like this,” Damen said, and it was the most formal way Laurent had ever been asked out that he tried not to laugh. Or maybe he was just happy. 

“And I would very much like that,” he replied, knowing he was grinning like a fool but still trying to sound as serious as Damen. “I would also very much like it if you kissed me again,” he added. 

Damen grinned back. “That’s good to know.”

Petal agreed loudly as she jumped from floor to chair, and chair to table, offering them a chirp as she laid down between their bowls. 

“You are by far the worst cat--”

Leaning across the table and grabbing Damen by his shirt, Laurent didn’t let him finish his insult. Instead, he pressed their lips together and tried not to smile into the kiss. 

______

It was what Laurent deemed to be the last good day of autumn, and the forecast for the next week - dropping temperatures and a snowflake icon showing for Thursday on his phone - seemed to agree. Damen wasn’t foolish enough to turn down the invitation for a nice long walk.

It was nice to meander around their part of town, making a stop at the bakery for lunch, then a bookstore nearby that Damen hadn’t been in before with a cat sitting in the window, tail twitching at every passerby. After that, they made their way to the closest park where the leaves that had yet to fall were deep oranges and red, those that were on the ground crunching beneath their every foot fall. 

It was turning out to be a very nice official second date. 

“Have you ever seen snow?” Laurent asked, long hair blowing behind him as a gust of wind came up. 

“In person?”

“No. Through the television screen.” Laurent rolled his eyes. “Yes, in person.”

“Does a ski resort count?”

“How long were you there?”

“Two days.” It had been back in college, so really, the focus had been on drinking in the hot tub. 

“That doesn’t count,” Laurent said. “Does it snow anywhere in Ios?”

Damen didn’t know. But he was starting to realize he was going to need to buy a thicker coat for the coming week. Maybe a wool suit. And Petal might need a space heater. She was already upset enough about the chill when she went onto the balcony at night: still meowing to be let out only to take a few steps and then turn right back around with the most pitifully wide eyes Damen had ever seen. 

“How much does it snow here?” he asked. 

“It’s not like it sticks to the ground,” Laurent replied, waving a hand vaguely. “Oh look, cider.” He pointed to a cart a little bit ahead. “Do you want some?”

Damen was alright, but nodded as Laurent took his hand and led him towards the cart.There wasn’t much of a line. Only two people were ahead of Laurent as he flounced up to wait, Damen slowing down until their hands parted so he could wait off to the side. 

It was habit to pull out his phone and check for any missed calls or text messages. He’d been trying to be better about his need to instantaneously reply when something came in, especially when it was from his father. With the phone on silent since they’d left the apartments, Damen hadn’t worried once about work.

Thankfully, none of the new messages were from his father, and none of them couldn’t wait a few hours for a reply. He scrolled quickly through his social media notifications, pausing on the alerts for Instagram. 

He’d posted a picture of him and Laurent from the auction to his account that morning. It was a shot of them at the dinner table, heads bowed together, Laurent whispering something in Damen’s ear while they both smiled. In the hundreds of photos that had been taken that night, Damen wasn’t sure if another would have such blatant happiness or adoration - and that had just been his own expression.

And after that night, after kissing Laurent into oblivion, and wanting to do it the next day, and then being unable to resist doing it that Monday, and making it very clear that if Laurent had any social media, they were now Facebook Official, Damen had seen that photo and thought that the internet should be jealous.

The caption he chose was the emoji of two men holding hands and a heart.

The comment at the bottom of the picture was skimming on the side of crudeness:  _ Hell yeah, bro. Get it! _

Another from an unknown GusofVere _ : F I N A L L Y  _ which made it seem not so anonymous, but alright.

The last was from Nik, replying to GusofVere:  _ What he said. _

Damen reread the two comments a second time, confused, but not enough to care. 

Laurent had paid the cart attendant now, and was carefully moving towards Damen with his hands full, the steam from the cider curling around him. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, handing over a cup as Damen he tucked his phone away. 

“Nothing important,” Damen promised, watching as Laurent took a sip of the warm cider.

Laurent hummed in delight and then smacked his lips, humming again as he kissed Damen quickly and took his hand. “Let’s go.”

______

“Are you...why are you on the floor?”

Laurent thought the answer was obvious as he placed another treat down on the carpet and one of Petal’s paws shot out from underneath the couch and swiped it into the abyss. He could hear her gobbling it up, and waited until he heard her stop chewing to offer another.

Petal’s paw came right out to take the treat.

“Petal and I are communing right now.” 

“I...see that,” said Damen. “How was the meeting with your advisor?” Not giving Laurent time to answer, he asked. “How...long have you been down there?”

“Not long enough.”

Really, it had only been about twenty minutes, but he would have been content to spend the night as he was. It had been a long day, and a long meeting, but it had been made only longer by all of the assigned reading Laurent knew he had to get through for the rest of the week and the complete lack of ambition he had to turn even one page. 

At least the semester was almost over. As his advisor had reminded him. Next time they met, they would be discussing his dissertation. 

“Dinner’s in the oven,” he called hearing Damen open the fridge.

Petal’s paw came out for another treat. As was his duty, Laurent put another one down for her.

“How many has she had?” 

“As many as she needs.” For good measure, Laurent put yet another one down. His gaze was still focused on the gap between the couch and the floor, but he could see Damen out of the corner of his eye, and felt him press a kiss to the back of his head before sitting down at the other end of the couch.

“If she pukes, you’re cleaning it up,” Damen said as Petal swiped up the treat.

Laurent finally felt like he was starting to relax. 

“We used to be so happy, and now we argue about the children.”

“This is what our relationship has come to,” Damen added, sarcastically. “Next you’ll demand I do the dishes.”

“It’s the least you could do,” Laurent replied, offering Petal another treat. 

______

**_So are you official now or what?_ ** Auguste’s message read. His first attempt of communication in days.

To be fair, Laurent had been busy. Busier than usual. Very, very busy basking in his and Damen’s relationship. Not that much had changed, but the physical aspect. 

And oh, how memories of all that made Laurent’s skin heat. 

_ I can’t read, suddenly.  _ Laurent told his brother, and turned back to his computer and the seventeen tabs open in his web browser. 

He’d come to the campus library to get work done, and he’d chosen the table furthest away from everyone else to prevent distractions of any kind. He’d just forgotten to turn his phone off, and maybe he hadn’t been as focused as he would like. 

Auguste’s name appeared on his phone’s screen again. 

**_(11:05 a.m.): L A U R E N T. T E L L. M E!!!_ **

_ (11:06 a.m.): Your instagram handle isn’t that anonymous, you dummy. _

**_(11:06 a.m.): I have no idea what you’re talking about._ **

_ (11:07 a.m.): Are you going to give me the safe sex talk? _

**_(11:07 a.m.): Omg no!_ **

**_(11:07 a.m.): Don’t be gross._ **

_ (11:08 a.m.): Are you too straight for the gay safe sex talk? _

**_(11:08 a.m.): I’m sorry I asked._ **

And because it was fun to torture Auguste, Laurent sent a selfie of him and Damen kissing. 

**_(11:10 a.m.): I’M TELLING FATHER!!!_ **

_ (11:11 a.m.): Please do. It’ll save me the awkward conversation. _

______

  
  


With his coffee cup refilled and ready to tackle all of the unread emails waiting for him with as much fervor and excitement as one could have on a Wednesday before 10 a.m., Damen’s attention was instantly diverted by a text message from Laurent. A perfect and welcome distraction. It was a picture, and the frame was split evenly with Petal’s little gray face on one side and half of Laurent’s face and one startling blue eye on the other. Damen paused, saved the photo and replied with a heart emoji and a good morning. 

Laurent responded after a while that he and the cat would be enjoying the life of luxury and textbooks, and then made some suggestions for dinner because he really didn’t want to cook, but neither did Damen. It was a discussion that had started after dinner the night before.

**Pick whatever,** Damen replied. 

_ (9:27 a.m.): But I cooked Monday night. _

_ (9:42 a.m.): And we just had Chinese. _

_ (9:43 a.m.): Soup? _

**(10:50 a.m.): You made that garlic soup last week.**

**(10:51 a.m.): Please never make that again.**

_ (10:52 a.m.): Sushi?  _

**(10:53 a.m.): From which place? Hapa or Agamemnon’s?**

But in the split second that Damen took to think about it, sushi didn’t actually sound that good. Not that he really had time to care, or reply. 

Makedon was in town to tour one of his distilleries, and so it had made sense for him to stop by for a portfolio review. Could he take Damen to lunch after? His assistant should come too! And that guy from accounting - Pallas! And by the time Makedon had been done inviting Damen’s employees, it had felt like half the office had been seated in the small bistro down the street.

Damen shouldn’t have let Makedon talk them all into a second drink with lunch, let alone a first, as he’d barely made it back in time for his two o’clock call with the other regional heads of office, one of which being his father. But when that was done, he had a half an hour break to catch up - which meant he pulled out his phone and promised himself that tomorrow he would answer all those emails.

No, really.

There were just more important (and less stressful) things to tend to.

Like a text message from Nik, asking why thirteen year olds should be allowed to handle anything under a PH level of seven. 

And the message from Lykaois that was just a string of sleepy emojis and then another asking that he never let her drink at lunch again.

Pallas, who Damen had no idea had his number, had thanked him profusely - with seven exclamation marks - for having him at the lunch. 

And from Laurent, there were five messages. None of them pertaining to dinner options. 

_ (11:00 a.m.): Gifevh y _

_ (11:03 a.m.): Khulhhhhhhhhhhhh _

_ (11:57 a.m.) .ugbnouzz _

_ (12:21 p.m.): &?5: ztd _

And lastly: 

_ (12:35 p.m.): Your cat is a menace.  _

**(3:47 p.m.): More so than usual?**

_ (3:48 p.m.): I closed my eyes for a few minutes and she suddenly had opposable thumbs.  _

_ (3:48 p.m.): Toes. Beans. Whatever.  _

**(3:48 p.m.): Just a few minutes?**

_ (3:49 p.m.): I think this brownie batter is about to go into the trash. How tragic. _

**(3:50 p.m.): Hey, now.**

_ (3:50 p.m.): She UNLOCKED MY PHONE, DAMIANOS!  _

_(3:51 p.m.):_ _EXPLAIN TO ME HOW SHE DID THAT!!!_

Damen couldn’t help but laugh, his head thrown back as he pictured Petal sneaking over a sleeping Laurent, her little paws tapping the phone’s screen until something happened. He loved that gray little fur ball so much, and even more he loved the image of Laurent outraged, color high on his cheeks and brows lowered, glaring at Petal who would be more put out that her new toy had been taken away than anything else. 

**(3:52 p.m.): I apologize on behalf of Petal.**

_ (3:53 p.m.) Mhmm _

**(3:54 p.m.): She is truly sorry for the pain she has caused.**

_ (3:55 p.m.) She sure looks it. _

Following that message was a picture of Petal laying in the one beam of sunlight, which happened to fall across one of Laurent’s open textbooks. 

_ (3:55 p.m.): She’s snoring, btw.  _

Damen laughed again.

_ (3:57 p.m.): Pick up Italian for dinner. _

**(4:00 p.m.): What about dessert?**

_ (4:02 p.m.): Get back to work. _

_ (4:02 p.m.): Maybe the batter wasn’t thrown out. Guess we’ll see when you get home.  _

“We’ll see,” Damen said under his breath and with a small shake of his head and smile, he put down the phone and pulled up his calendar for the rest of the afternoon.

His computer  _ pinged _ with another email that would go unanswered until the next day. 

_______

It was a heady thing, the feeling of Damen's bodyweight on top of Laurent.

“Let me kiss you,” Damen whispered against his lips, as if they hadn’t already been doing that. 

It wasn’t like he waited for a reply either. When he brought his lips back to Laurent’s, it was soft. Slow. Deliberate. Laurent’s heart wanted to beat out of his chest as he kissed back, Damen’s hand coming up to clasp his over their heads. 

Laurent couldn’t help but moan. His free hand curled around the nape of Damen’s neck, fingers teasing the curls he found, letting Damen push forward until he felt a hardness against his own and he moaned again. 

A small noise slipped from Damen’s mouth as his tongue slid hot against Laurent’s. “Good?” he asked, and Laurent felthis smirk against his lips. He didn’t care. Then, another whisper, “We should slow down.”

But neither of them tried to pull away. All Laurent managed was a nod in agreement before Damen’s tongue thrust past his lips again, insistent like his suggestion a moment before held no weight. As one of Damen’s hands stroked Laurent's side, down to his hip, fingers curling into the waistband of his pants, the words had already left Laurent’s mind. 

_______

The sun was peeking through the curtains, and still half-asleep, Damen frowned and turned away from it, curling closer to the middle of the bed.

He could still feel the cold air on his skin, the smell of champagne and fireworks from the night before in his hair and Laurent’s. Why there had been fireworks at the party, Damen had never gotten a clear answer. 

He could hear Petal purring nearby, and when Damen opened his eyes, he found her lying on Laurent’s chest as he smiled softly,as running a hand up and down herback, stopping occasionally to scratch behind an ear. 

Damen would never admit it out loud, but she looked the most content he’d ever seen her. 

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Laurent turned to him, hair mussed and pillow creases on his cheek. “Good morning.”

“Is it?”

Lying down as he was, Laurent still managed a shrug. “It can’t be too late. She hasn’t demanded breakfast yet.”

Damen hummed, scratching between Petal’s ears and settling himself closer. He let his eyes close, listening to Laurent’s murmurs and Petal’s purrs, drifting off again until Laurent spoke.

“Did I ever tell you I’m allergic to cats?” 

Damen didn’t know what his face did just then, suddenly coming online and trying to figure out how and why and when, but Laurent - he was laughing. And he looked so happy like that, still holding Petal to his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides right in on her own deadline* I said it would be done before December. 
> 
> I want to say thank you to anyone who read, commented, kudo’ed this fic. 2020 has been shit for all of us, and the only reason I started writing again was because my therapist suggested it and I was like ALRIGHT FINE BUT IT’S GONNA BE SOMETHING SILLY AND FUN. AND ABOUT A CAT. 
> 
> Writing this was self-indulgent, and also a bit of an escape from *waves at the entire world*. I hope some of you got some joy out of the story as well. 
> 
> One last thank you to my betas - fourofswords and Sam - who put up with my usual amount of doubts and begging for validation while helping make this story better. This last chapter wouldn’t have been half as good without fourofswords help and *kisses* to her for that!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [Laurnotofvere.](https://laurnotofvere.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> *blows dust off this fandom* Hey again. This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, and I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Shout-out to thefourofswords for the beta, Sam for lowkey pulling my ass through every fic I've written in this fandom, and my therapist who told me I had to get back to writing. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [laurnotofvere.](https://laurnotofvere.tumblr.com/)


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